


Trust No One

by thesubparpirate



Category: Half Life Trilogy - Sally Green
Genre: Anxiety, Happy Ending, Ignores Half Lost, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:44:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 76,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4952197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesubparpirate/pseuds/thesubparpirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, but the fighting isn't. Nathan is trying hard to get better. Gabriel is doing alright, mostly. But when Nathan is faced with a challenge he just can't surmount, Gabriel is there to fight for him. </p><p>Things happen. Potions are made. Commas are misused.</p><p>This is mostly told in 1st Person POV, starting and ending with Nathan talking to Deb, and a bit of Gab's perspective in the middle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hi.

Gabriel said I should talk to someone.

I don’t think this is what he meant, but it’s as good as it’s going to get. I do still remember what Mary told me.

So.  
Arran is at school again, still studying to be a doctor. The war only made him want it more, I think. He was thinking about stalling so he could be with me, but I wouldn't let him do that. I have Gabriel. That’s more than I had before.  
Gabriel says that they’ll have to stop hunting me now, but I’m not so sure.  
I know how this sounds, but I don’t know if I want it to stop. I can’t remember a time when I haven’t been running. I’m afraid I won’t know who I am when I’m not in motion.  
…  
We’re supposed to get somewhere to stay, the two of us.  
I want to be away, near the woods. Gabriel wants to be with me. He’s looking into places in Wales, asking his contacts.  
Van is picking up the pieces we shattered, along with Celia and Nesbitt at her side.  
I’ve seen Ellen a few times since everything cooled down. She bought me a hot chocolate and a cookie for old time’s sake. I didn’t get sick this time.  
She’s finishing school too, thinking about university. Whatever she decides, she’ll be fantastic at it.  
You would love her, I know it. She’s one of my favorite people.  
One in three. Or four, if I count you, of course.  
I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I never planned for this.  
Not being hunted…  
I never thought that would happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Hi again.  
We’ve found a place now.  
We have a little cottage in Wales. It has a tiny kitchen, a tiny bathroom, and a bedroom with a threadbare sofa and a chimney that smokes often. The bed is bare: we’ve pulled the mattress outside, protected mostly by the roof and the trees. We’ve bought a lot of very warm blankets and quilts. No sheepskin.  
My problems with electricity have gotten worse since Marcus died. It hurts my head sometimes just to be near telephone wires, and going into the city is almost as horrible as a night indoors.  
We don’t have a fridge, so we use an ice box. We keep it locked up outside, and usually it’s cold enough that everything keeps. We don’t have much, other than what I hunt—some milk or Gabriel’s coffee, some butter and cheese and eggs for breakfast. He’s taken a liking to ice cream, although it’s a bit too sweet for me. Raspberry is his favorite.  
He makes bread every other day, when he has time. Lately he’s been getting up later in the morning, so he has to rush to work. I made a cut for him near our house so he can get there quickly.  
“You don’t have to,” he’d told me. He knows how I struggle with Marcus’ Gifts.  
“How else are you going to get there?” I asked, and made the cut. It was the last time before now that I purposely used a Gift other than my own. I could make excuses, but really I’m just avoiding them.  
He uses all the hot water for his showers, and he leaves the kitchen a mess after hurrying through breakfast. But no matter how late he is, he always leaves out a plate for me, full of whatever he made for himself as well.  
He says he doesn’t mind his job. He works at a bakery in the morning and early afternoon, and then works as a French tutor in the evenings. And I think he means it when he says it, but he deserves to do something he loves, not something he tolerates.  
This is so strange, my life now.  
This place is ours.  
I’m not alone anymore.  
Deb, I have people.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wish you could have met Gabriel.  
He’s beautiful, really. His eyes are dark like the coffee he loves, with gold flecks in them like no Witch I’ve ever seen. And they’re such kind eyes.  
He smiles all the time. I used to hate it. I wasn’t used to that much happiness, I guess—it confused me, made me think he was hiding something. But now I love it. I want him to smile more.  
He’s so smart. Smart like you are.  
We’ve talked about his love of books before. He’s told me what it’s like to read. How he feels like he’s getting to know someone before they’ve even met, how the characters tell him about the author, how the characters show him things about himself.  
How they teach him to be a better person, a stronger person, a more thoughtful person.  
He’s told me he’s lived so many different lives within the pages of his books. And when he reads to me, we both can.  
He’s so smart. He’s so much smarter than I’ll ever be.  
He wanted to go to college once, he told me. But after Michele, he couldn’t continue his studies. And then after he turned himself fain, well, getting his Gift back took priority over everything else.  
What was David like?  
Was he smart like you two are?  
I bet he was. You’d never settle for anything less.  
I hope he made you happy. You don’t deserve anything else.

I’m so sorry.  
Deb, I’m so sorry.  
I miss you.  
I love you.  
I wish I’d gotten the chance to say that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve found a good place for us to talk.  
I’ve been going into the woods every day, mostly after Gabriel leaves for work, but sometimes, if it’s a bad day, I leave before he wakes up. Sometimes I’m the animal, but mostly I’m not, unless I’m hunting.  
A few miles into the woods away from our cottage there’s an old cemetery. It’s all overgrown, and you can only see the top half of the worn gravestones, because the ground has built up around them. There’s moss covering most of the names and dates, but sometimes I can make out letters. I found one with a capital D, pretty close to a tree I can sit on.  
I wish I had something more solid for you, but I guess this will have to do. I don’t know what they did to you after you died. But at least here I feel closer to you than before, somehow.  
I’ve changed a lot since we last spoke. I think by now you know that. Celia probably told you a lot.  
I’ve killed people. I have Gifts that aren’t my own.  
I don’t want to talk about this, but I think I have to start being honest. I tried to hide myself from Annalise, and that didn’t work. And it’s not like you’re really here.  
Alright.  
It was a few weeks after Marcus died. The Alliance was still frantic and, with what little numbers we had left, picked up and moved almost every day to try to evade Hunters.  
Jessica is very good at her job, Deb.  
Did you see her? Before Hunters killed you and David?  
I know why she hates me so much. I don’t understand where it came from inside her. But I hate her back. And I’m sorry you were our fallout.  
I never meant to hurt anyone. I was just trying to survive.  
So.  
They found us.  
Thankfully for the Alliance, “us” wasn’t a very large group. Just Gabriel and I. We’d been sent out to get food. How was up to us, as long as it was enough to feed everyone.  
The only feasible way was to hunt, and for safety’s sake, we had to travel in pairs. But with Gabriel near me, it was hard to let go. Not because I was afraid I’d scare him, but because I was afraid I’d hurt him. I didn’t know what I could do, and I didn’t know my limits.  
We’d wandered deep into the woods, and then I heard a gunshot.  
A tree branch exploded near my head, and Gabriel tackled me to the ground.  
We hid behind a tree. He pulled out his gun and started shooting. I had the Fairborn in one hand and a gun—significantly less useful in my hand than Gabriel’s—in the other.  
I couldn’t tell how many there were.  
Four, maybe five.  
They moved towards us, we ran and found another hiding spot to shoot at them from. Again. And again.  
Gabriel’s arm was bleeding, and he couldn’t heal fast enough to stop it.  
A woman took too long aiming. Gabriel shot her between the eyes.  
Three left.  
Maybe four.  
Something strange was happening with the weather. The wind was picking up. Clouds were gathering overhead, leaving splotches of the ground very, very dark.  
Some of the plants seemed to move on their own accord. One of them tripped me as I ran, and I got hit in the thigh by a bullet. I healed over it, but I ran slower.  
They were getting closer.  
I felt like everything was getting louder, sharper, more intense. But that was the animal within me awakening: I could feel him in the pit of my stomach.  
Gabriel shot another, this one in the throat. But the other two kept moving.  
And then they got too close.  
Of course Jessica was one of them.  
The other stopped running. She took aim.  
She fired.  
Straight.  
At.  
His heart.  
I was too far away to push him out of the way.  
He was too close to move in time.  
He was going to die.  
He was going to die.

And then everything stopped.

The bullet hovered in the air, useless.  
Gabriel’s unchanging expression of shock. The Hunter’s, of intense determination.  
Jessica’s eyes locked on where I’d been standing.  
Everything stuck in place.  
Except for me.  
Everything was red.  
My hands were on fire. And before I knew it, so was the Hunter who almost killed Gabriel.  
She stood stock still as the flames surrounded her.  
She couldn’t feel a thing, for now.  
The flames roared as they devoured her clothes, her skin, her body.

My hands were still hot, but not burning, when I grabbed Gabriel. He threw himself to the ground, so hard I nearly toppled with him.  
He looked up with wild eyes and his gun out, muscles tense and ready to shoot. He searched madly for a target.  
And then he realized what I still hadn’t in entirety. What I’d done.  
He brought the gun to his side. “We need to go,” he said.  
I took his hand and made a cut.  
To where, I didn’t know for certain as I made it. But after we spun for ages within it, we landed in a dense grove of hedges.  
Right outside Marcus’ hideout.  
I let go of Gabriel.  
“Nathan, wait.”  
I couldn’t, Deb. I couldn’t stay with him.  
I had to leave.  
So I left him.

I don’t know when I restarted time, but as I calmed, so did the weather. So did the plants, which reached for me as I tore through them. Eventually, my hands stopped smoking.  
I was exhausted, and I was still injured.  
I found my way back to Gabriel, and he dug out the bullet for me.  
We didn’t talk.  
There was too much to say.  
And so I sat, quietly afraid of myself, until I fell asleep.

I’m sad I didn’t get the chance to see you, after so long. But I’m glad you didn’t see me. After they took me away, they made me into a monster. They’ve turned me into something I’ve tried to avoid.  
Now I don’t even know what I am.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve been trying to control these new Gifts.  
I’m still afraid of them, but I’m more afraid of what I’ll do if I never learn to control them. Maybe if I was alone, it would be different. But I have Gabriel and Arran to worry about, and with them around I can’t go making a thunder storm every time I get sad, or setting fires every time I'm angry.  
I practice when Gabriel is at work, or when I’m away from him in the woods. I’ve never practiced here, but once I’ve got a bit more ability, I’d like to show you something.  
Turning invisible is difficult for me. So far, it seems the most difficult out of those which have revealed themselves to me. I’ve only done so once, and that was by accident—I was trying to make it rain. I looked up to see the blue sky, and looked down to see the ground where my torso should have been.  
I’ve been practicing with plants most often. They come more naturally to me. I can make creepers creep their way over to me, ivy scale rock faces faster than Gabriel can climb, thorn bushes grow to seven feet tall.  
Trees are more difficult. They’re older, and so they’re more stubborn. It’s almost like having a conversation with them, trying to convince them to do what I want.  
Flowers are also difficult. They bloom and wilt so quickly. But the other day I managed to make a little clearing bloom in poppies and lilies. I filled the space until the air was heady with their scent.  
I showed it to Gabriel when he got home. He smiled wider than he has in a long time. There’s a bouquet still in a glass on our dining room table.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I feel horrible.  
He has bags under his eyes, but he always smiles so brightly when he sees me.  
My nightmares wake him up all night, and then he works all day.  
He says he doesn’t mind his job, but I know him. He’s not like me. He hates working with his hands. He’d rather be working his mind.  
The war is over, but I still fight it in my dreams.  
I wake up screaming my throat raw some nights.  
Tearing at my mouth, choking on Marcus’ blood.  
Other times I’m thrashing on Mr. Wallends’ operating table. Or clawing at my ears from Celia’s Gift.  
Seeing that bullet, what would have happened if I hadn’t stopped it, seeing Gabriel when it—  
Well.  
He’s has told me I’ve sleepwalked, sleepfought. I woke up once and he had a black eye, and I ran into the woods and couldn’t face him until it was gone. After that I tried to sleep when he wasn’t around, but that didn’t work, and he wouldn’t let me try.  
I’ve been feeling the cage again.  
A few weeks ago, Gabriel and I were on a run. I was running fast and hard, and went farther than usual. I went ahead of Gabriel, and then left him behind me. I felt strong.  
After a long while, I started hearing buzzing in my ears. I thought I was close to some power lines, so if I kept running, I’d pass them.  
I continued.  
And then.  
A gunshot.  
Hunters.  
I threw myself down and hid myself in the shadows. My breathing was heavy and my heart was racing. I had hoped the end of the war would have ended this. Being hunted.  
As I moved through the shadows, trying to find out where they were, the buzzing in my head got louder. And louder. And louder.  
I heard a gunshot again, ducked down again. I didn’t see where the bullet went. But I knew which direction the noise came from. And the roaring in my ears was an excellent compass.  
And Gabriel—  
He was coming up behind me.  
I was the one who drew them here.  
This was supposed to be finished.  
I finally found a home.  
I finally found somewhere I could stop fighting.  
I wasn’t going to let them take that away from me again.  
That’s when I started seeing red.  
I crouched.  
The wind picked up.  
The plants shifted.  
I felt the animal rise within me.  
“Nathan!”  
Gabriel was still running, straight at me. He grabbed my arm.  
I didn’t register the alarm in his voice. It was drowned out by the buzzing, and I tried to shake him off. He used the momentum to place himself in a better spot, and held my arms to my torso.  
“They’re fains,” he said. His face was full of worry. “Nathan, they’re fains. Look at me.”  
I was still breathing heavily. I didn’t—  
“Nathan, we’re by a road. There are cars. One of them is backfiring.”  
I don’t—  
“It’s a car, Nathan. We’re safe.”  
We’re safe.  
I was so prepared for a fight that I had difficulty focusing. But his words finally got to me. And when they did, I started laughing. I laughed, and then I couldn’t breathe.  
All the adrenaline I’d had, all the intensity I’d brought up turned inwards.  
I crumpled.  
I couldn’t stop shaking.  
The world was spinning.  
I couldn’t breathe.  
I was making painful sounds that weren’t me, trying to get air into my lungs. The world was tilting. I was nauseous, and the pressure of my stomach was closing up my throat.  
“I—I—” I gasped. “I can’t—”  
Everything was wrong.  
The animal was whimpering inside me, terrified.

Gabriel held me.  
He pulled me into his lap and stroked my hair.  
“Shhhhh, Nathan. It’s okay. You’re alright.”  
He was the only solid thing I could hold onto. I clung to him. I don’t know how long we sat there.  
He made me take long, slow breaths, my lungs shaking for want of air, against my inclination to gasp. When I got bad again he brought me back down. Over, and over.  
Eventually, the world stopped spinning. I could breathe better. But the buzzing didn’t leave, and I still couldn’t stop shaking. I still felt a bit nauseous.  
We walked back to the cottage, his hand on my back the whole time, guiding me. “It was a panic attack,” he explained after we settled into the cottage. I sank into the sofa with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders.  
“They can be triggered by stress, or sometimes they just happen for no reason, I think.” He handed me a mug of tea. I took it but didn’t drink, and watched the liquid shake instead. “They happen a lot for people with PTSD.”  
I grunted.  
He poured himself a mug and set it on the ground as he sat next to me. He was smiling when he looked at me, but there was sadness in his expression, and worry. The gold in his eyes tumbled slowly as he searched my face.  
“You’re so brave, Nathan,” he told me.  
I shook my head.  
I was never brave. I only ever wanted to be left alone.  
He pulled me to him and hugged me. I let him.  
It was good to have him here.  
He held me for a long time.  
I think once upon a time he might have dared to do more, but I’d scared him away from that.  
I didn’t know what to do, or what to feel. So I held him back, and felt everything and nothing at once.  
“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

Am I strong, Deb? Or am I just falling apart?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I kissed him today.  
I’d woken up from another nightmare. It was the one about seeing him die again.  
The clouds were dark above us and my fingers were sparking and the animal within me was railing, angry at the injustice of it all, but he was there, and he was warm, and he was alive.  
I calmed down, but neither of us could sleep after that.  
“What do you dream about, Gabriel?”  
He thought about that for a minute, looking at the sky as the early morning clouds swirled purple and deep pink within it. “My parents, sometimes. Michele…You, or whatever book we’re reading. Work, sometimes.”  
“That sounds pleasant.”  
He laughed. “Do you want to read more, if we’re just going to stay up?”  
“No.” I paused. “Do you want to go watch the sun rise?”  
“Sure.”  
In the woods by here, there’s a little hill, covered in trees. There’s so many of them, they’re easy to climb. Of course Gabriel was at the top before I’d even gone midway. And then, to humor me, he climbed back down and then climbed up with me again.  
“That’s not fair,” I told him. “You have a longer reach than me.”  
“I believe I was better at climbing than you even when I was a fain.”  
I rolled my eyes at him and jostled his branch. He grinned at me and climbed onto mine, making it dip and protest loudly. He held onto the branch above us and started stomping, bouncing me around. So I grabbed his legs, which he took off the branch entirely and just hung from the upper branch.  
I continued climbing and got onto the one he was holding onto. At that point he’d started doing pull-ups.  
“Show off.”  
“I can do more pull-ups than you, too.”  
“I can do more push-ups.”  
“Once we’re on the ground we’ll see about that.”  
The mighty scaler of rocks and trees and all things climbable, satisfied by the number of pull-ups he had done, pulled himself onto the branch and sat close next to me.  
The birds had just started singing, although we scared off a number of them from our tree just getting there. The sky was orange and pink and cream colored, the sun not quite yet on the horizon. Everything was lit in soft pastel.  
I thought about the beautiful boy sitting next to me.  
And I thought maybe I wanted to do something again. But this time, I wanted to do it right, and I wasn’t sure how.  
“Gabriel,” I said, and turned to him. He was already looking at me.  
The way the sun looked on his face made my fingers itch for a pencil. I stroked his cheek instead, and his breath caught.  
I kissed him there, close to his mouth, my hand on his chest.  
“Nathan…” It was a halfhearted warning, midway between a reproach and a sigh. I reached up to push a stray lock of hair behind his ear and he moved away from me. I shifted with him, but he held a hand out to stop me.  
“Nathan, if you don’t mean this, I can’t do it. I love you. I love you so much, but if you’re not…If this is just fun for you, I can’t. Nathan, I can’t.” He was squinting towards the horizon, the ground, looking anywhere but me.  
“It’s not,” I said. And when he looked at me, I saw hope and desperation and a little sadness in his face. “I’m sorry for making you doubt it.”  
He looked a little mollified, but still concerned.  
"It's never been just fun. I should have never pushed you away the first time. I didn't...I was only thinking about what I wanted. What I thought I wanted. But I don't want to hurt you like that again."  
I took his face in my hands and pulled him down to me. His eyes watched me intently.  
“I’m sorry, Gabriel,” I repeated.  
Our lips brushed. “Is this alright?” I asked him.  
“Hn—“ He swallowed heavily. “Yeah. Yes.”  
So I kissed him.

We were in the tree long past the sunrise.  
He was almost late for work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey Debs. I know you’re here. I don’t know what terribly boring things you’re doing in the afterlife that make you want to come see me so often, but I actually need to talk to someone else today. Don’t worry, it’s nothing you’d be interested in.  
I’ll talk to you tomorrow, I promise.

Rose?

Hi.  
It seems like you were right, then. How proud of yourself you must be.  
Rose, I don’t know how to do this. How to keep this good.  
I’ve been thinking.  
Yeah, novel activity for me. I know.  
How do I love someone like this while keeping them themselves?  
That sounds confusing, but I think you know what I mean.  
When I loved Annalise, I didn’t really love her. I mean, I did, sort of. I thought I did. Despite the fact that she was hardly every there—the girl I thought I knew wasn’t really her. And that was my fault, I think, because at that point I needed someone to love. And she was kind, and she let me.  
But then I changed who she was while I was away, remembering her and rethinking her over and over until she wasn’t even real. Nobody could be as perfect as I thought she was.  
Even before the end, we’d been falling apart. If I’d lived a normal life, I don’t know what would have happened. But I’ve seen cruelty like she’d never believe, and it’s made me angry, made me a killer. And I tried to hide it from her, because she knew nothing of that world. And you can’t give yourself to someone and hide yourself from them at the same time.  
She shot Marcus. I can’t ever forgive her for that. But, I think I understand it more now.  
Connor was her brother. Connor hurt me, so I hated him. But she still loved him.  
Marcus was my father, and he killed people. People hated him. But I still loved him.  
I think I get it.  
I used to think we were so different, me and her. That she was good, and anything that wasn’t her was bad. But people can’t be put in boxes like that. I’m trying to learn that.  
Gabriel said that I was the epitome of Black Witch and White Witch. That everyone had it backwards, that bringing the two together was a good thing. I think I’m starting to understand now why.  
People aren’t just one or the other like that.  
Kieran attacked me, and I killed him. And she couldn’t reconcile that fact with who she thought I was, because I wouldn’t let her see me.  
So she started getting scared, and that’s where the façade of whoever I thought she was started collapsing.  
Then Marcus killed Connor, so she killed him. And then I tried to kill her.  
The difference is I think she tried to show me who she was.  
Where was she when her brothers were carving those letters into my back?  
Why did I know I had to hide from her?  
Why was I so afraid of her actually seeing me?  
I was trying to preserve two people who never existed. A better her, and a better me.  
I’ve figured this out. And I’m starting to believe it, a bit. And so now I have to learn how not to do it again.  
This is going to be hard, Rose. But, also easier, I think.  
For one because I don’t feel like I need to shelter Gabriel. He’s seen everything. He’s seen me. He’s fought with me, he’s stayed with me. I don’t need to hide myself, my animal, or the violence I seem to trail behind me wherever I go. He’s already been part of it.  
I don’t need to hide from him. And I want to know him.  
I want him to talk to me forever. I want to hear how he breathes and watch how he moves and see his face when he reads a good book, or enjoys a coffee, or takes in a sunset.  
But I need to remind myself of who he is. I can’t forget who he is like I did Annalise, or I’ll ruin this.  
I really don’t want to ruin this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yeah, I know I’m dressed strangely today. I’ll explain that.  
I had another panic attack. Thankfully, this one wasn’t that bad.  
I was trying to figure out my other Gifts.  
I threw around some fireballs for a while. They were sad things, and fizzled out very quickly, leaving little wisps of white smoke in their wake. Very impressive, to be sure.  
On the bright side, I figured out how to keep my fingertips alight for a while.  
Did you like that pun? Arran came around yesterday and hung out. He kept saying them. He loves them.  
Aren’t I terrifying? Son of Marcus, Destroyer of White Witches, Humungous Crybaby and Maker of Horrible Puns. A pretty terrifying title if I do say so myself.  
But anyway. See? Pretty cool, right? I’ll never get lost in the dark again. As if the animal would let me.  
So after I essentially mastered flame-throwing, I figured I’d try something more advanced.  
I have the ability to breathe it, too, and not just light up my hands, but I haven’t figured out how to do that. I figured I might as well try.  
It’s a lot more difficult than you’d think. Mostly nothing happened. Sometimes I’d produce a little bit of smoke, less than a cigarette. I gave myself a stomachache concentrating so hard on breathing.  
I decided that although I haven’t yet attained dragon status, I’m pretty close.  
I went back to practicing with my hands. This time I tried aiming at something. Mostly just patches of dirt, or big boulders. I accidentally set a shrub on fire, but I managed to put it out in time before it spread, and I re-grew another one in its place as a way of apologizing.  
The fire danced in front of my eyes, and it made me remember watching it flicker and sway in front of someone else’s. Seeing her burn, staring straight ahead. Unblinking. Unmoving.  
I killed someone who was totally helpless.  
And then I saw all the wounds from all the bullets I put in Hunters’ heads, and I saw Marcus’ heart in my hands, and I felt that first Hunter’s neck snap beneath my hands.  
Shaking, dizzy and nauseous, I threw up a little and retched a lot.  
The wolf took me over and it was easier to let go after that.  
We walked through the woods, away from the stench of fear.  
We traversed the forest with so many scents in our nose and so many sounds in our flicking ears we forgot everything else. Our muscles were tense, our nerves, a bit unraveled. We were ready to let out some energy.  
We found a buck and stalked him through the leaves. We hunted him and were aware enough to save most of him for dinner later on.  
We loped through the woods and relaxed with the sun warming our fur. And so we became me once more.  
I tried to wipe away the blood on my mouth, but there was blood on my hands, too, so I gave up, retrieved my knife, and decided I would clean myself off after the deer was done with.  
We have enough meat now to last us more than a week. I had to make a lot of trips, and our ice box wouldn’t fit all of it, so I left a lot behind in the woods. It’s a waste, but I don’t know how to cure meat, so another animal will get a meal from it I hope.  
I showered off and scrubbed my skin with soap, but I still smelled like blood. I couldn’t get it off me, no matter how hot the water was or how much I rubbed my hands and face raw.  
So, I gave up. I put on my jeans and decided to take one of Gabriel’s sweaters, because if I can’t smell like me, I can at least smell like him.  
He’s taller than me, and the types he likes to wear are already too big for him. So yeah, I know I look like I’m swimming in it. But it’s warm and reminds me of him and doesn’t smell like blood, so I can look ridiculous for a ghost for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve been trying to convince Gabriel he doesn’t need to work as much, but he won’t listen. I’m not sure how much we’re paying to live here. He never told me; he said he doesn’t want me to worry about it. It seems like every time I press him we end up fighting.  
“I don’t mind,” he said to me. He was making breakfast. I had woken up with him and was watching, because I’m not allowed to do most of the cooking anymore.  
I accidentally wrecked the gas stove a few weeks ago. I couldn’t get it to light, so I tried lighting it with my own fire. But then my arm caught on fire—it tickled, surprisingly—as did most of the rest of the stove and some of the counter, and then I had to spray everything in water and it was a mess. But I salvaged most of it. It took a while, but it no longer smells like singed hair. We just can’t use one half of our stove anymore. And also I have one less shirt.  
“No, I know you don’t. But I do,” I said. “You do everything, Gabriel. It’s like I’m dead weight.”  
“No, Nathan. Never.”  
“Hm.”  
He flipped the eggs out of the pan and took the toast out of the toaster. I fixed his coffee for him and got some juice for myself, thinking about what I should say next.  
“I can’t just do nothing.”  
“You’re not. You’re doing something incredible, Nathan.”  
“But it’s not helpful.”  
He sighed. “I don’t want you to stress yourself out,” he told me. “You’ve worked so hard for so long…I think you deserve a break.”  
“If this is about the panic attacks—“  
“It’s not,” he interrupted, shooting me a look. He got up to retrieve something and came back, hugging me to him from behind and pressing his face into my hair.  
“I worry about you, my love.” I could feel the vibration in his chest as he talked. He squeezed me a little tighter. "I want to spoil you a bit. Just let me spoil you a little longer.”  
  
When he asks me like that, Deb, what can I say?  
“Alright?”  
“Yeah…Alright.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve been working on the garden, despite what Gabriel said. So far I’ve managed to get some turnips and carrots, some watercress and a bunch of different types of beans. I tried corn once, but I accidentally put basil in instead, so now we have much more basil than we’ll ever need.  
Deb, I’m turning into Gran. Send help. Maybe a punk-rock band. Throw in a curfew and some bad decisions. Now where are my knitting needles?  
Besides that, though, I realized I’ve been ignoring my own Gift. I don’t know the animal well, but he’s more familiar to me than all these others, so I thought I could keep him in check. But he doesn’t like being ignored, and after struggling trying to make a spark or a cloud or even make a damn shrub grow it’s so much easier to just let him out.  
Mostly I’ve stuck to the wolf. A few days ago I branched out and became a squirrel, but I didn’t realize how little squirrels think. I even forgot who I was for a few minutes, just because my tiny squirrel brain did not have room for it.  
All and all, it wasn’t too different from me normally, then. I turned back into me pretty fast once I realized who I was again. After that I decided to stick to animals more closely related to what I’ve already tried, for now.  
I can turn into a dog easily. It’s always a German Shepherd. I don’t know why. That’s just what my Gift decided.  
I’ve decided I’m going to visit Gabriel at work like that. A dog, or maybe a bird, if I can get the other forms down. Eagles are pretty conspicuous. Maybe a robin or a swallow. He only works in a little town, not a big city, so it shouldn’t hurt my head too much. I just want to make sure he’s happy with what he’s doing.  
I know he’s reassured me over and over, but I know that if it weren’t for me he’d be studying at a university somewhere. And I really need to make sure he’s not making himself miserable so I can be here. I want to give him everything he wants, but I’m stuck here in the middle of the woods and I can’t even ride in a car without wanting to vomit and I can’t sleep through the night and I always wake him up and I worry about everything and I have panic attacks and all I can do is grow a damn vegetable and I feel fucking useless.  
God fucking damn it.  
I hate this, Deb.  
I feel like I’m in quarantine. I feel like I'm in the cage again.  
Maybe if he were here, or if I knew for sure what he was doing made him happy, it’d be better. But right now, it’s horrible.

I’m going to go practice my other forms some more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve got it. It took a few days, but I’ve got it down.  
I can stay in it for long enough to check up on him, and I still remember myself. The birds are a lot easier to deal with than the wolf. They’re less forceful.  
Should I not do this, Deb?  
Maybe if you were really here you’d convince me out of it.  
I trust him with my life. I’d trust him with Arran’s life, and that’s really saying something. But I don’t trust him to do what makes him happiest.  
I don’t have many people left, and he’s so important.  
I’ve hurt him before. I gave him the scar on his eyebrow, and then that time I pushed him away, and when I woke up and he had that black eye…  
I can’t be hurting him now, too.  
The fighting is supposed to be over.  
I’m going to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much fluff. Also slight angst. But it's also entirely covered in marshmallows

He kissed me awake today.  
It was raining. We’d put up a little tarp the night before, so none of it fell on us directly, but the spray from the ground made everything a little damp.  
Sometimes overnight he’ll steal the blankets--I’ve lived outside so long, I don’t even notice. I usually end up throwing them off of me at some point during the night anyway. When he wakes up he’s always completely encased in quilts, with only a little bit of his head or a hand or a foot peeking out.  
Yesterday was a bad day. Everything was too loud. Everything was either too fast or too slow. I couldn’t get any of my Gifts to work, and I couldn’t eat dinner or focus on the book Gabriel was reading. My mind felt frayed, like all my synapses were splitting apart. I’d done too much too fast and now I was paying for it. When he asked me what was wrong I snapped at him, and then he looked hurt and I was so frustrated I didn’t know if I wanted to hit something or cry.  
Last night, when we went to bed, he’d taken all the blankets and cocooned them around us. He takes so much care when I have a bad day, like his softness makes up for my sharp edges. He held me close to him and kissed me and spoke to me softly, sometimes in English, sometimes not.  
« Je t’aime », he whispered to me. « Mon cœur…I love you, Nathan.”  
I didn’t say it back, but I should have.  
I fell asleep in his arms, listening to his breathing, breathing him in.  
I didn’t dream at all.  
His lips on my forehead were the first thing I felt today.  
I blinked the sleep from my eyes. He smiled at me, tired, his eyes half lidded.  
“Good morning,” he said to me, his voice still rough.  
I hummed and kissed him my good morning.  
The rain fell softly around us.  
“I should get out of bed,” he said quietly.  
“No,” I murmured, and held him closer.  
“I’m going to fall asleep again.”  
“Good.”  
He laughed.  
He stayed there with me until he was really pressed for time. He skipped breakfast. Said he was working at a bakery, after all so he’d eat something there. Kissed me goodbye, and then left.  
I waited around I bit after he was gone. Made myself a slow breakfast. Doodled in the drawing pad he’d given me.  
After a few hours, I figured it was time to go after him.

I took flight after leaving the cut as a sparrow.  
Once I reached the bakery, it took a lot of effort to stop. Flying is so freeing; it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Running doesn’t even come close. I would fly forever if I didn’t have people worth landing for.  
He’s made a friend, a girl named Sophie roughly our age. She’s a student and works shifts when she doesn’t have class. I got to see her today.  
Her hair was in a messy bun, her hands glittering with thin bracelets and rings. She looked like she was in a rush, but the longer I stayed, the more I realized that was just her manner of being.  
I couldn’t hear what they were saying from outside. Gabriel is friends with her, but he’s friends with everyone, so I’ll reserve judgment until I’ve actually spoken to her. Which I will do, at some point.  
My headache isn’t so bad right now. I think maybe it has something to do with my different forms, or maybe because I’m using my Gift now, that I don’t react as violently against electricity. Like the Gifts are preoccupied, I don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s useful. I might even be able to accompany Gabriel when he does the shopping, or walk him to work.  
After I spent a while outside the bakery, I got bored, so I swooped and flitted around the town center. There were flocks of other birds lined up on the telephone wires, but even with my increased tolerance, I could never do that. Besides, they squawked and ruffled their feathers when I came near—they knew something was off about me.  
I dipped and dove and spun. When I got bored I turned into birds of prey and scattered flocks of pigeons or swallows. I was a magpie for a while, then a crow. As an appeal to Edgar Allen Poe, whom Gabriel read to me a few weeks ago, I became a raven. Unfortunately I don’t retain my vocal cords in other forms, or I would have been tempted to croak “Nevermore!”  
He seems to like his bakery job more than his tutoring job. I found him there, after a few hours of wandering through different forms. I couldn’t understand what he was saying from so far away, but I could understand his body language, and I’m pretty sure he was entirely fed up. He makes fun of me for not having patience, but he’s just as bad, unless it’s with certain people.  
I wanted to cheer him up. So, because I have poor foresight, I decided to surprise him.  
Once his tutoring ended he headed home. He takes a bus back towards the bakery every day and then walks the bit in between the stop and the cut. Because we hid the cut a little ways into the woods, there’s usually no people on the little path he takes to get there.  
As he was walking there I swooped down to him. I was in the form of a little sparrow again, so I was very intimidating. My feathers brushed his hair.  
“Hey!” he yelled, hunching over and putting a hand up. I flew away, and then flittered in front of him again. He stopped walking and looked at me. I hopped around a bit, the little skip birds do when they want to move but don’t really want to put the effort into flying just yet.  
I hopped into a shadowy bit of woods off the trail as Gabriel watched perplexedly. It was when I re-emerged as a German Shepherd that he understood.  
“Nathn. What are you doing here?”  
My response was very long-winded, to show off my expansive canine vocabulary and vocal cords complete with the muscular structure necessary to speak in English. Which is to say, I wagged my tail.  
He sighed.  
“My boyfriend is a dog,” he muttered, patting my head. “How much of a dog are you? Are you around fifty percent Nathan, fifty percent dog right now? If I throw a stick, how inclined will you be to chase it?”  
He stopped patting my head. I patted his knee with my paw, because I disliked that. Also I had difficulty discerning what he was saying, adjusting to my new, more powerful, and very overwhelmed ears, so I ignored it.  
“Wonderful.” He scratched my ears and continued through the cut with me at his side.

“Are you going to stay like that forever?”  
I was still the dog five hours later. I’ve never exactly been a great philosopher, but I liked the simplicity of dog thoughts. And also I liked an excuse not to have the conversation I knew was coming.  
“I’d like to talk to you, you know.”  
Oh, yes I do.  
“Nathan, please. Will I have to feed you kibble tonight for dinner?”  
Appetizing.  
He was side-eyeing me with increasing frequency and intensity, so eventually I had to admit that I was just making things worse for myself by stalling.  
I went into the bedroom and shifted back. Yellow and white spots immediately appeared in my vision—the aftereffects of being around too much electricity. My headache increased, and my stomach hurt, but it was nothing I wasn’t used to by now.  
I dug some leaves out of my hair and made myself halfway presentable. There was a stubborn patch of dirt low on my right cheek, but the movement of trying to wipe it away made my headache settle deeper in my temples, so I left it there. I could hear him putting the plates on the table and decided I might as well get this over with.  
I sat across from him.  
“Sophie looks nice.”  
He raised an eyebrow. “She is. Did you follow me all day, Nathan?”  
“I was worried about you.”  
“Worried about what?”  
“I wanted to make sure you liked what you’re doing.”  
“I like my jobs.”  
“You think the students are obnoxious.”  
“Not all of them.”  
“Most of them.”  
“Finding out that most twelve year olds are obnoxious was not something you needed to strain yourself to find,” he admonished. “How bad is your migraine?”  
“It’s fine.”  
“Are you nauseous?”  
“No.”  
“Bullshit. You’re usually ravenous after shifting.”  
“I just sat down.”  
“Do you want to get a compress out of the ice box?”  
“This isn’t about me—”  
“—no, it is—”  
“It’s about your happiness. Those kids are assholes.”  
I waited for him to respond. He took a very large—rather overconfident—bite of venison. I laughed while he covered his mouth with his hand and ungracefully attempted to chew.  
“You don’t have to work so much. I can do something. I don’t even really have to think and plants grow, at least the smaller ones. Or if you’re worried about overexerting my Gifts, I can draw and try to sell that.”  
That surprised him. I haven’t shown anyone my artwork, ever. “I don’t want you to sell your drawings.”  
“I don’t want you to work somewhere you hate.”  
“I don’t hate it.”  
“You don’t like it.”  
He sighed.  
“I’ll just pick up other shifts at the bakery.”  
I stabbed my meal with my fork. “Gabriel, I do like you here, you know. I enjoy your company.”  
“And I—”  
“And you’re never around, yeah, I know.”  
“What do you want me to do, Nathan?”  
“I want you to let me do what I’m suggesting!”  
He bit his lip and watched me while he thought. I stewed and poked at my food with my knife. My utensils make scratches and squeaks as they hit the plate.  
“If you really think you can…” he started.  
“I do.”  
“I’ll ask around, see who I should talk to about the market. No drawings. But until I know anything definite I’m keeping the tutoring job.” I could tell by his expression that was the end of the conversation.  
It wasn’t the solution I wanted, but it would have to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I still love drawing. I don’t burn my pictures anymore, though. I would tear them up and crumple them out of habit. Once Gabriel got me such nice paper, it just didn’t feel right to do that. I haven’t drawn on something this expensive since I lived with you and Gran.  
I draw the woods often. Sometimes, to help myself, I’ll find the next animal I plan to shift into and spend a few days observing the ones I can find, drawing them, seeing how they run or fly or settle, the way their muscles move, the way their faces twitch. It helps me figure out how I’m going to move once I’m like them, or how I might think when I’m like them, and that helps me prepare.  
The dog thinks simply. Birds are all scattered, although the birds of prey seem to think with more precision. The wolf…well, you know the wolf.  
I’ve been thinking maybe a fox for my next one. They’re a bit like dogs, and they’re fairly smart, so I doubt I’ll lose myself the way I did with the squirrels.  
I think Gabriel would be a bit mad if I accidentally irrevocably turned myself into a small woodland creature. Not that he’d be able to complain much, considering what he did was pretty much the equivalent with his Gift, but at least then he could talk.  
Among my drawings of animals have appeared my drawings of him. An increasing number of them. Maybe I’ll show them to you one day.  
…Maybe not.  
It’s really weird, watching him shift. It’s amazing, but it’s also a bit disconcerting to see the face I know so well disappear.  
I’ve seen him do it only a few times. One of them was after he’d stolen a tourist’s wallet, and needed to look like a fifty year old man in order to get the money out of his bank account. Gabriel can wear almost anything well, but I have to say a graying beard and a beer gut is where I draw the line.  
The second one was when we’d needed to steal supplies from a fain store for the Alliance. Just small things, tools and such to help us rebuild what had been destroyed. So while I went and rummaged in the back, trying to make myself inconspicuous, he turned into a girl. A very, very pretty girl, with bright red lips and miles of brown curls and legs even longer—and he (or she, in this context) started schmoozing the suddenly much more alert teenage guy behind the counter.  
It’s amazing how observant raging hormones and minimum-wage apathy will make a person. I nearly cleaned out the aisle by the time Gabriel was done with him. And when he kissed his cheek in parting, the guy was so star struck he couldn’t do more than stare at Gabriel’s back as he flipped his hair and sashayed out the door. When he saw me laughing leaning against the building across the street, he winked at me and blew a kiss, not slowing his stride at all.  
I actually don’t know if Gabriel wants me to refer to him as “he” still when he’s not biologically male. I’m assuming so, considering the way he refers to himself, but considering the fluidity of his Gift maybe that’s not right. I’ll have to ask him.  
Either way, he’s gorgeous. But, of course, I prefer his own face.  
Celia told me that one of Marcus’ Gifts was changing his appearance. Unfortunately for me, I’ve been having enough trouble figuring myself out as I am, so I doubt that one’s going to show up for quite some time.  
I think you’re helping, though.  
Thank you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey, you wanna see a trick?  
…  
Neat, huh?  
I’ve realized that colder fire is easiest to control. White and blue flames just want to eat everything. But orange or red, they’ll humor me a bit. So I can finally breathe fire. I can’t snort it yet though. I tried once, because Gabriel told me to, but then I accidentally inhaled it and coughed for ages. He laughed at me because he’s a brat. I blew black smoke in his face.  
Stop laughing. You’re both brats.  
Anyway. I let out a few shocks the other day. My hair stuck up on end and my fingertips turned black, but I think it’s the beginning of my lightning coming in. I haven’t told Gabriel—I want to wait until I’m a bit better at it first.  
His birthday is in a few weeks.  
I don’t know what to give him.  
What do you get for a person like Gabriel?  
I doubt he’d even know what to get for himself. A present for me, maybe. I should just get myself something.  
I’m joking. Sort of.  
He loves books, but I can’t give him that. And coffee and pastries, but he’s already got enough of those, too.  
I’ll think of something.  
I’ve been trying to get him to teach me a little French. It’s been working better than I expected—meaning I haven’t broken anything yet. Probably because of the teacher.  
“Teach me something,” I said.  
“J’ai faim.”  
“What’s that?”  
“I’m hungry. Now you say it back to me.”  
“Um. Jay fom.”  
“Oh.” He squinted and bit his knuckle to keep from laughing.  
“What?”  
“That’s not how you pronounce it.”  
“How do you pronounce it?”  
“The “j” is softer. J’ai. And that isn’t how you say “faim”. J’ai faim.”  
“It sounds the same!”  
He laughed harder. I swore at him.  
“No, no, it’s cute. Come back. Je t’aime.” He wrapped me up in a hug.  
“I already know what that means,” I muttered into his shirt.  
“I know you do,” he said, resting his cheek on the top of my head.  
We stayed like that for a few beats. And then he added something softly, like an afterthought.  
“But can you say it back?”  
I pulled myself out of his arms to look at him.  
He looked sad, Deb.  
Why do I always hurt the people I love?  
“Don’t ask that,” I said. I reached up to cup his face in my hands, but he ducked his head and pulled me back into a hug.  
“It’s fine,” he said, although I’m not sure who the words were meant for. “Shh. It’s fine.”  
It’s not fine, but I’m too afraid to say it.  
How can three little words be so heavy?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I love you, Nathan.”  
His eyes were on mine until they started to fade.  
His blood was in my mouth.  
Everything was red  
red  
red…

I woke up retching.  
My stomach was twisting in knots trying to get out what was already gone.  
By the end of it I was shaking and exhausted. My throat burned, and my eyes were streaming.  
Trying to sleep lately has been more fatiguing than just staying awake.  
I could feel Gabriel nearby, watching me.  
The night was eerily quiet. No wind. No animals. Every sound I made was elevated to an earsplitting roar.  
I took a few deep breaths and leaned back. Ran my hands through my damp hair and walked away from the mess I made.  
“I’m fine.”  
My voice was hoarse and strained. He hummed, unconvinced. Followed me into the house. Stood in the doorway as I brushed my teeth.  
“You don’t need to be here,” I said, spitting out toothpaste. “Go back to bed.”  
“I’ll stay with you.”  
I shook my head, but let him stay while I finished cleaning myself off. I found bile on the front of my shirt. I burned it in the sink, quickly—the migraine was already starting.  
“Was it Marcus this time?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Are you going to try to sleep again?”  
“No.”  
He nodded. He could tell I wanted to be alone.  
“I’ll be here if you need me.”  
I left into the still night.  
Into the forest, with plants taking root in my footsteps and soaked in the light of the moon.  
I could feel the magic dripping off of me.  
All I wanted was to lose myself in it.  
So that’s what I did, and the night was still no longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today Gabriel had the day off of work from the bakery, so we could hang around until tutoring started, late in the afternoon.  
I would occasionally remind him throughout the day that he did not, in fact, have to go, because he was going to be quitting anyway and so he might as well get a head start on it, but he kept changing the subject. He liked that I wanted him around, and neither of us wanted a fight, so we both let it slide.  
This morning he had a really hard time getting up. Since that night I told you about, the woods have been pulling me in more. Sometimes I wake up, sometimes I don’t, but occasionally I’ll find myself wandering around the forest in the middle of the night, with no memory of how I got there and vegetation wrapped around my legs and arms. Once I reached up to run my fingers through my hair and felt little horns growing out of my forehead. Another time, I found myself in the middle of a rainstorm, completely dry and completely confused a few hundred meters away from the cottage.  
I’ve told him not to worry, but it’s like he can’t help it. He’s gotten used to waking himself up every few hours to make sure I’m still there, so he hasn’t been getting very much useful sleep recently.  
He did practically everything with his eyes shut, shuffling around like an old man with his hands out in front of him.  
When he fumbled his spoon and it fell on the floor, he sighed deeply and stood in front of it for thirty full seconds, contemplating whether the energy necessary to bend for it was worth it.  
I didn’t move from my seat at the table, but whenever he left his coffee mug to do something else, I’d manipulate some of the plants we have around the kitchen to steal and hide it. He poured himself three different cups of coffee, muttering curse words to himself. It was funny—for me, if not for him.  
After large quantities of caffeine and ample amounts of time for a slow breakfast, we went hiking. At one point, we found a hill that was a gentle slope on one side, and a sheer cliff on the other. Of course, we both know which Gabriel chose.  
I transformed into the eagle and carried my clothes with me as I flew to the top. Once I shifted back, I dressed and sat on the edge of the cliff, watching him.  
“I beat you!” I called.  
“Only because—” He grunted, pulling himself up from handhold to handhold. “I don’t—have wings!”  
“Prick,” I grinned, and lied on my stomach, keeping him in my sight. He’s never fallen before, but I was prepared in case he did.  
He was up and next to me within ten minutes. “I would have gotten here sooner, but I had to backtrack that one time.”  
“Mm, yes. Unstoppable. Practically superman.”  
“I’ll be whoever you want me to be.”  
I shoved him. He shoved me back. I shoved him harder. And so on.  
I made a show of falling.  
“Oh, gravity! I’m on a downward spiral—a young man, taken from the world too soon, so sad—”  
And then I stepped off the cliff.  
Gabriel’s face changed from amused to terrified as he lunged for me.  
I caught him and reversed his momentum. He landed back on the grass, perplexed.  
“Look!”  
He did, and his eyes widened.  
I’d made a column of wind to keep me up. It was easier this close to the cliff, like the air was leaning on the rock face, scaling it the way Gabriel had. It kept me suspended somewhere a bit above a forty-five degree angle a few inches from solid ground.  
I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows at him.  
“I’ll act more impressed when my heart rate goes down.”  
I grinned and stepped back onto the hill.  
“That was with the weather Gift?”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“That’s pretty specific, achieving human flight.”  
“I wasn’t flying. And it was easier because I was using the cliff to guide the wind. I wouldn’t be able to do that if I was just in midair.”  
“Well, then, I guess you’re useless,” he grinned.  
I swore, and pushed past him as I ran down the hill. I beat him to the bottom, no wings necessary.

“Nathan!”  
Gabriel found his missing cups of coffee as he was getting ready for work. I’d put them in his shoes for safekeeping.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve decided what I’m going to do for his birthday. Well, sketched out a plan, sort of.  
It’s what I’m going with, because it’s today.  
I’m nervous, even though he’s already talked to me.  
“You don’t have to get me anything. I don’t want you to get me anything.”  
“I want to get you something.”  
He looked at me. “You’re already something enough.”  
I swore at him. “You think you’re so smooth.”  
“Well, you are blushing.”  
“I’m not.”  
“Liar.”  
I wiped my charcoal stained fingers on him. They left black streaks on his face and shirt. “I don’t lie to you.”  
He smiled but didn’t respond as he turned the page of his book. We were on the couch. He was reading poetry, which he had tried to read to me but I couldn’t handle. I got lost in all the flowery language and couldn’t understand what the author was trying to say. I’d stuck my feet underneath him and was propping up the sketchpad on my knees.  
“What are you drawing?”  
“You.”  
I’m always drawing him. Even when I’m not, I’m thinking about drawing him. Or just thinking about him in general.  
I think it’s been long enough that he’s settled into work now. I have to start heading out.  
I love you, Deb. I’ll talk to you later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What can I get for you?” Sophie asked me.  
I scratched my neck. “Gabriel, if he’s not too busy.”  
So far, not bad. Headache doing well. Got through two sentences with Sophie.  
“What’s your name?”  
“Nathan.”  
“Oh! Oh,” she said, her face changing in comprehension. “Oh, he’s talked about you. Hang on.” She disappeared into the back.  
I strained my ears and could hear a bit of their conversation. “Gabriel, you have a visitor. He looks different from what I expected. More rumpled. And shorter.”  
“What?”  
Footsteps.  
“I’m not rumpled,” I muttered, tugging at my sleeve.  
He appeared in front of me, wiping his hands on an apron. “Hey.” His voice was warm, but there was also a question in it, and a trace of concern. He thought that once he’d talked to me I’d stop coming here. His eyes flickered from the overhead lights to my face, trying to gauge how much my head hurt.  
“I came to say happy birthday again.”  
“You already said that this morning.” He leaned on the counter.  
“I came to say it again. And,” I paused, reaching behind me, “to give you this.”  
I had stored some seeds in my back pocket, because I figured a voyage through the cut would be a little too hard on the flowers once they were grown. I palmed them, and within seconds they bloomed. Two roses, their stems intertwined. One black, one red.  
When he saw it, he laughed. “You’re giving me flowers.”  
“That’s part of it.”  
“I never thought you’d be capable of something so cute.”  
I scowled. “I’m not cute.”  
“You are adorable.” He looked behind him to make sure his manager wasn’t watching, and gave me a quick kiss as he reached for the roses. “Thank you.”  
“I’m not done yet.”  
“What’s next?”  
“That’s for when you’re off of work.”  
“Now I really want to know what it is.”  
“Shame you’re still tutoring.”  
“That’s just another try from you to make me quit.” He smiled and bit his lip. “I’m not going to focus at all today.”  
“You’re the one who wanted to work on your birthday.”  
“You ok? Does your head hurt?”  
“I’m fine.”  
“Are you going to show up at tutoring? Sweep me off my feet and ride into the sunset on a white horse?”  
“If I had a horse, the wolf would have eaten it. You’re safe.”  
He laughed. “I’ll see you back at home, then.”  
“Yeah.”  
He looked behind him again. Only Sophie was there, doing dishes. She pretended to be busy while watching us out of the corner of her eye. I knew that he noticed. And I also knew that he loved to have an audience.  
He held my shoulder and kissed me across the counter. “See you soon.”  
“See you.”  
As I exited the door, I heard Sophie ask, “Where did he get those flowers from?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I used to let fire eat my drawings.  
Now, fire is going to be my medium.  
“When is the next part of the present?”  
“It’s after dark.”  
“What is it?”  
“I’m not telling you.”  
“Just a hint.”  
“No.”  
“Come on, Nathan.” He gave me the mischievous look that makes so many people melt, and always gets him in trouble. “I won’t tell anyone.”  
I nodded to the food he was making. “You shouldn’t be cooking. It’s your birthday.”  
“I rather like this house, Nathan. If you use the other side of this stove I’m afraid you’ll burn it down.”  
“That was over a month ago!”  
He laughed, but still didn’t let me cook. Which, admittedly, was probably the right decision. Even without the fire hazard, he can make a much better meal than I can. Although my specialty of white rice and salt is still a crowd pleaser.  
“I’m not short.”  
“You heard Sophie say that?”  
“She talks loudly.”  
“You’re a little short.”  
“You think that because you’re tall.”  
“I’m not tall, just taller than you. But it’s okay. I think short guys are cute.”  
I swore at him.  
“You can swear, but because it’s my birthday I have the final say.”  
I made a noise of discontent, but didn’t continue. I’ve learned to pick my battles. It only took a war to help me understand the importance of that.  
I looked out the window and waited for the sun to set.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I lead Gabriel through the woods by the hand. The shadows were long, and the dying sunlight left streaks of brightness on the ground.  
We had been walking for a long time, but he didn’t ask where we were going. He knew he wouldn’t get an answer anyway.  
I led us to the clearing, through the garden and past it. Weaved within and without the trees, I’d made a winding canopy of vegetation, held fast and strong by tight vines and branches. Solid enough to walk on with a little give and wide enough for single file. Flowers of every sort I could think of bloomed in the trees supporting it. Red and pink, violet and gold, white and lilac swirled together until the very tops of the branches.  
I climbed onto it and helped him up. He touched the blossoms softly, a look of wonder on his face.  
As we walked the canopy gradually widened until we were standing in an area just large enough for us both to lie down in, with very few branches obscuring our view of the sky.  
“Sit,” I told him. He did.  
I watched the sun sink beneath the horizon, and waited for the first stars to come out.  
“Watch.”  
Here was the part I’d been nervous about.  
I’d started by drawing with charcoal. Then, by manipulating vines. Once I got that down, I started burning them, trying to get the forms right.  
Now, it was time to play with fire, and fire alone.  
I summoned a tall flame, a deep red. The heat it gave off was warm and soothing, instead of searing, like lighter fires. Red is one of the coldest fires I can keep up.  
(I’ve been trying to produce flames that don’t burn, but that’s a story for a different time.)  
I turned it into the shape of a young man sitting at a table, alone. Drinking coffee, wearing sunglasses inside.  
Then it changed. Turned into the figure leading someone through the city streets by hand, walking determinedly nowhere, glancing back with a smile.  
It changed. He was washing dishes.  
It changed. He was climbing cupboards.  
Hiking.  
Sparring.  
Running.  
The flames danced as he moved, illuminating the night around us.  
The back of his head, disappearing as he turned a corner, running away from those who chased him.  
Sitting next to a wolf.  
Laughing.  
Smiling.  
That face…  
I let that face hang in the darkness, and let it go as it started to fade.  
Without the fire, the whispers of the woods and the stars reemerged.  
I sat beside him.  
He was silent.  
“I know it’s not much…” I said haltingly. “But. Um.”  
He was too damn quiet.  
“Say something.”  
“…You grew me a walkway of flowers,” he said finally. His voice had a strange, breathless quality. “You painted me in light and shadow.”  
I waited for him to say more.  
“And you think it’s not much.”  
I bit the inside of my cheek.  
“Nathan, it’s perfect.”  
When I finally looked at him, Deb, his face was so happy. Even if I drew him over and over again, I would never be able to capture that brightness.  
It was everything I never thought I’d have.

Deb, you’re my sister. There are just some things I can’t talk about with family. So, if I say Gabriel was happy, can I leave it at that?  
I thought so.  
I love you.  
Talk to you later, sis.

 

Hey.  
Uh.  
Rose?

I know you’ve been listening.

Look, I can’t talk about this to Deb, but I really do need to.  
Do me a favor.  
Try not to giggle too much. It’s annoying.

In that canopy, Gabriel held me tightly and wouldn’t let me go for ages. And then when he did, he covered my face so completely in kisses I had to laugh.  
“Have you breathed once?”  
He pressed his forehead to mine. “I’d rather kiss you.”  
I let out a surprised snort. It was very attractive, I can assure you. “That’s dramatic.”  
He smiled as he turned my head and kissed me, long and deep. When we parted he bit at my bottom lip, that little space apart already too much.  
His eyes were half lidded, like the weight of his eyelashes was dragging them down.

“Nathan…”

God, Rose. The way he said my name.

When he took off my shirt, it was slowly, button by button. He kissed the skin as it was revealed. I shivered and sighed when I felt his breath on me, a little lower each time.  
He wrapped his hands around my torso, and I tensed as his fingers encountered my scars.  
“Is this alright?” he asked me.  
I took a deep breath and nodded, because it was Gabriel. I could trust him. He wasn’t going to run away from me, no matter how much a little voice sounding like Kieran’s taunts played in the back of my mind.  
He rose back up and pressed his face into my neck. His fingertips whispered across my back, slowly tracing my scars, barely touching them. I lost my breath and my eyes fluttered shut.  
He kissed my scars from top to bottom and back. He kissed my shoulders, my neck, up to my face and then down again. I ran my hands through his hair and under his shirt, until he took it off altogether. His skin was hot under my fingers, his breathing heavy in my ears.  
Surrounded by the smell of him. His weight suspended above me. His eyes on mine, hazy and intense.  
He was so beautiful.

I could tell you the rest. But I think you know what happened next, and I don’t want to bore you with the details.  
Besides, he and I deserve a little privacy. After all, you never gave us that while you were around.  
I'll talk to you later.


	3. Chapter 3

He got away from me. The animal.  
I was on my run. He was restless, stalking me, waiting for a moment when I wasn’t paying him close enough attention.  
I tripped, and he pounced.  
He was the wolf, loping through the woods.  
A deer, leaping and bounding in between the trees.  
A bird, swooping and diving.  
A badger.  
A raccoon.  
A hedgehog.  
As it got later, a bat.  
A fox.  
A mouse.  
It was beautiful.  
So much so, I lost myself in it. For days, Deb.  
I didn’t remember who I was for days.  
I hadn’t returned to the cottage.  
I don’t know when I returned back to myself. When the animal was too tired to continue, I suppose. He slept in my stomach as I stared at the dirt and blood encompassing me in confusion.  
It was late afternoon. But…it couldn’t be.  
I started remembering all the creatures I had become and all the sensations that came with them.  
The precision of a bats ears, so fine-tuned I could see through the night.  
The strength of the badger’s claws.  
All the scents I could smell so easily with the mouse’s nose.  
Even thoughts of Gabriel pulled me towards the cottage my Gift dragged me in the other direction.  
I had to leave.  
I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to be free. I wanted to forget myself again.  
But.  
I needed to see Gabriel.  
Gabriel, who was worth returning for.

The cottage was lit inside and out. He had candles and lanterns everywhere.  
He saw my silhouette approaching and opened the door before I was ten paces away.  
His hair was a little greasy and stuck up in funny places, like he’d been tugging at it. His eyes were bloodshot and sported heavy bags beneath them. He nearly ran towards me and held me so tightly I lost my breath.  
We stayed like that for a long time. His breathing was unsteady.  
“What happened?” he asked me, moving away just enough to talk. “Are you ok? Did they take you? Did they hurt you?”  
“Gabriel—”  
“Was it Jessica?”  
“No—”  
I didn’t get to finish. He pulled me closer to him and wrapped his arms around my head and the back of my neck protectively.“I’ll kill them.”  
His voice was shaking with fury.  
I’d never seen him so angry. “Gabriel.”  
“Gabriel, it wasn’t her. It wasn’t Hunters.”  
My voice was muffled by his shirt.  
He backed away from me to let me talk, his expression still so intense.  
“It was the animal,” I explained, looking everywhere except his eyes. “He took control, like when I first got my Gift. There was no ‘we’ anymore. It was just him, and he wouldn’t let me out until he was finished.” I watched the muscles move in his jaw. “Gabriel, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I couldn’t…I couldn’t control it…” I ran out of words. “He just…”  
Gabriel kept looking at me. His face was unreadable.  
“While you were gone,” he said, “do you know what I thought of?”  
I stayed quiet. My stomach twisted.  
“I thought of Michele, Nathan. I thought of how she never came back. I thought of how the White Witches caught her and how they tortured her hour after hour until she finally died.”

“I heard her screaming in my ears, and I thought of you.”

His haunted eyes held me captive.  
“I searched for you through the woods for days. I was looking for any trace of you. I found your clothes and claw marks in the ground near them, but I couldn’t find you.  
“If I couldn’t find you by the end of tomorrow, I was going to start calling to see if anyone knew about the surviving Hunters.  
“I was going to get you back. And if I found you and you were already dead, I was going to kill them all. Every single one. And it still wouldn’t mean a thing—it still wouldn’t make it better if you died.  
“If you died, Nathan, everything would die with you.” His voice wavered and cracked as he spoke.  
His words and the way he said them were like a knife in my guts. Despite all my efforts, I’ve managed to hurt him again.  
He shut his eyes and ran his hands through his hair. He took a deep breath.  
I reached for him. He looked like he was wanted to say something more, but he saw me hesitating and stopped.  
The lump in my throat was hard to speak around. “I can’t tell you how much I wish this hadn’t happened.”  
It felt like such an insignificant thing to say against everything he was feeling, but I held him, and he let me.  
We swayed together and I stroked his hair as he shook and held me back.  
“We’re safe,” I said to him. But, and not because I’m worrying over Hunters, I couldn’t quite make myself believe it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gabriel came back later than usual yesterday.  
He likes the peace and quiet of the woods, but he also likes the city. He likes the movement and the people. And although I know he loves me, I’m certain he needed a little break. I know I haven’t been easy to be around lately.  
He told me the night before that he was going out to a bar with Sophie and her friends, so it was no surprise for me.  
What was a surprise was the state he was in when he came back.  
I’d been sitting on the mattress, a little ball of fire swirling through the air around my head, sketching. I like the fire. In small bits, it’s more predictable than the animal. Safer. I’ve been using fire to keep him away, summoning it whenever I feel him pricking the pit of my stomach.  
I heard crunches and thuds and occasional swearing approaching from the direction of the cut.  
“Gabriel?”  
He struggled out of the woods tugging strands of hair out of his face. He was already smiling before he saw me, which was as usual. The red in his cheeks, nest of his hair, and wobble in his step was not.  
“Hi,” he said, his voice a little lower than usual, and flopped onto the bed. He made all the quilts and pillows bounce. I put my pencils and sketchpad out of reach and made the fireball fly high above us, afraid he’d accidentally sway into it.  
“Fun night?”  
“It was so fun.” His words had a little slur in them. He looked massively pleased with himself. “Sophie kept talking about you.”  
“Yeah?”  
“She agrees with me. We both say you’re cute.”  
“Then it must be true, if you’re both drunk.”  
“I’m not actually drunk,” he protested. “I’m just a little drunk. Hardly over tipsy. This is nothing.”  
“If you say so.”  
He buried his head in my shoulder. “I do say so.” He smelled like wine and something sharp.  
“You smell good,” he mumbled, and started kissing my neck.  
“I smell like dirt.”  
“Like sexy dirt.”  
I laughed. “I think you may have had too much. Do you want something to eat? Or drink?”  
“Not now,” he replied, and reached for my face. I think he meant to touch my cheek. Instead he got my forehead, which I suppose was good enough for him, and he wrapped his fingers in my hair. He tugged my face towards his and I didn’t resist.  
His lips and tongue were a little clumsier than usual, his movements a little rougher. When he pulled me into his lap we swayed so violently I thought we were both going to go crashing down, but he caught his balance in time.  
« Je t’aime » he breathed. « Je t’aime, mon cœur, mon amour… »  
Each word he marked with a kiss.  
I held the back of his neck and pressed my forehead into his. He bit his lip as he looked at me. And then, finished with that, he kissed me and bit mine. I laughed at him.  
He touched the corner of my mouth with the pad of his thumb. “You haven’t been smiling lately. Smile like that again.”  
He wouldn’t stop kissing me until I did.  
I extinguished the flame overhead.  
He fell asleep with his head to my chest, his arms around me. I stayed up for a long while after.

“I love you,” I whispered into the top of his head.  
The sound was too soft to wake him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think something is happening, Deb.  
Fire.  
Plants.  
Animals.  
Invisibility.  
Lightning.  
Weather.  
And time stopping.  
Those are the ones that have presented themselves to me. So that means I still have potions, changing my appearance, healing others, and whatever other Gifts Marcus had that Celia was unaware of to discover.  
Maybe I’m trying to do too much at once. Maybe I should stop trying to use the Gifts. This only started after I tried to control them.  
I had a seizure. Or at least, I think that’s what it was. I’m not too sure—Arran’s the doctor, not me.  
I’ve been trying not to listen to the animal, when he wants to be let out. But I’ve never been good with cages, and he’s more myself than I am, these days. So I’ve been trying to distract myself with my other Gifts instead. I figured as long as I stayed in my own body, I couldn’t get too lost from myself.  
I was trying to figure out how to do multiple things at the same time, like making plants grow and creating fire. I know I’ve done it before, but that’s been in battle or in self-defense or after a nightmare, when my adrenaline was up and my Gift was controlling me, rather than the other way around. I was just the open door from which the magic could flow. But I wanted to see if it was feasible for me to do two things at once, and keep myself while doing it.  
When I succeeded in conjuring one, I couldn’t get the other. The plants wilted, or the fire spurted out.  
After hours and hours, I finally got it. I was drenched in sweat from concentration and every muscle in my body was so tight it could snap, but I managed to grow a vine in one hand, and a flame in the other. I held it for a few seconds, as black and red spots appeared in the corner of my vision, and then dropped it.  
I stood swaying, exhausted, and pressed my eyes with the heel of my hands. The dots didn’t fade.  
It didn’t hurt at first, Deb. It sort of felt like floating. Like when you’ve run miles and miles and get that feeling like nothing can touch you.  
My body started shifting, not of my own accord. Soft skin slowly turned to scales, nails to claws, and flesh to fur. It started as curious, and continued as terrifying.  
My muscles started twisting.  
My bones, bending.  
I couldn’t stop it.  
I howled, and I roared. I screeched. I made all manner of sounds, when I had vocal cords. When I had a mouth.  
I scrabbled at the earth with my hands, or my paws, or my tail. Grasping for something I wasn’t able to hold.  
Sometimes I’d suck in air, unable to breathe, only to claw at my neck and find gills. My vision distorted and spun, sometimes in color, sometimes in black-and-white, scenes in front of me blurry or much, much too sharp.  
My Gift possessed my body, and my body possessed me.  
It rippled and convulsed as I remained a prisoner inside of it, victim to my crazed magic. Eventually, my mind carried me away, and I can remember nothing else.  
When I woke up, the ground was cold. The shadows were long. I had the taste of iron on my tongue.  
I limped back to the cottage, and refused to speak when Gabriel asked me what was wrong.

I’m scared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Hey. Sorry I haven’t been here in a while.  
I’ve been having troubles focusing. Or, more so than usual. I’ve been irritable and moody. I haven’t slept more than a few hours each night. Usually I abandon the attempt and walk the woods until dawn. This morning Gabriel and I got into a spat, and he left for work angry.  
It’s the animal. He wants attention. But I can’t bring myself to oblige him.  
My stamina is wearing thin. I can’t keep this up—he’s going to win eventually.  
So, there’s a question.  
Am I learning to control my Gifts? Or are they learning to control me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

When Gabriel was working a few days ago, towards the end of his shift, he told his manager he felt a sore throat coming on, and explained—  
have a phone. He got the rest of that afternoon, yesterday, and today off.  
He needs it.  
Did you know Gabriel had a sister?  
I never met her. She was supposed to be around my age.  
Gabriel’s family is as Black Witch as they come.  
Michele fell in love with a White Witch.  
Well. They found her, and they caught her. And you know what happens next better than I do, Deb.  
She was only just seventeen. She didn’t stand a chance.  
He’s told me a bit about her, but not a lot. It still hurts him to talk about her.  
Yesterday was the day she died.

He didn’t sleep at all through the night. Neither of us did.  
He sat on the mattress with quilts draped around his shoulders and watched the sun touch the dewy grass and glide through the morning mist. His eyes were bloodshot, underscored by dark purple half-moons.  
He really does need to get more sleep.  
I took his hand and held it in both of mine. Ran my fingers across the scars from the stake. Brought it to my chest and kissed his knuckles.  
He didn’t look away from the nowhere he was staring, but he leaned into me when I put my arm around him.

He was still sitting there a few hours later, when I got up and made him his coffee. I left it next to him, kissed his cheek, and returned inside.

Now is the first time I’ve left since then, to see you. He’s already got so much on his mind I didn’t want him to have to wonder where I was.  
He stayed outside and walked the woods when he wanted to be alone. When he came inside and wanted company, I hugged him often. I kissed him and stroked his hair and held him. We seldom talked.

As long as I made a few little fireballs and let the plants grow every now and again I didn’t get stir crazy, although the corner where the bare bed lies without a mattress is now entirely covered in vegetation. I could feel the animal’s claws settling in my stomach the whole time, getting more painful as time passed.  
I’ve been extra careful with him.  
It’s the Gift I know best, which means I’m most familiar with it and it with me.  
It would be so easy to lose myself in it again. And if I fight it, I’m afraid a seizure will start.  
It’s a little like being back in the war, always being prepared, always keeping my guard up. I thought it was over, but I’m starting to think maybe it won’t be for a long time. For either of us.

Gabriel spends so much time taking care of me, Deb, I’m afraid he’s started comparing his pain to mine. I’m afraid he’s been going over in his head how much I’ve lost, and telling himself that because I’ve had it worse, he can’t show when he’s suffering.  
He’s such a selfless person. But he’s been strong through so much. And he never talks about it.  
He doesn’t talk about Michele, or Caitlyn, or any of his family. The only thing he’ll say to me about the war is that to him, everything he did was worth it, as long as I was safe. But I’ve seen the way his face changes some nights, when he falls asleep before I do.  
He deserves to acknowledge what he’s been through, because it has been painful for him and that’s important. I don’t want him to feel more pain because he doesn’t want to let it out.  
I hope I haven’t been an obstacle in that.  
I hope I’ve helped him, Deb.  
He’s so important.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

« Enfin, cette voix qui parle est votre voix ! Pourquoi le sort mit-il mes jours si loin des vôtres ? J’ai tant besoin de vous pour oublier les autres… »  
Gabriel has taken to reading in French again. He’s finished all of Solzhenitsyn and gotten bored of American authors. He knows I don’t pay as much attention to the story as I used to, so he decided he was going to read Victor Hugo in his own language. The book he’s reading now is short, but there’s a stack of much longer ones by the couch. I can’t understand the words he reads, but his French is softer than his English, s’ more fluid, vowels rounder. I like the sound of it, but right then it was just making me sadder.  
His fingers drifted lazily through my hair and I pressed my face into his side. And, slowly, silently, I started to cry.  
My Gifts, the animal…  
I don’t know what’s happening to me, Deb.  
What if it takes me away from him?  
“Nathan?”  
I covered my face in my hands.  
He put the book away and sat up. He kept his hands on me.  
“Nathan, love. What is it? What’s wrong?”  
There were so many words fighting to come out at once. I was afraid if I opened my mouth, it would all mix together and just sound like a scream.  
He moved like he wanted to hold me, but he held himself back. I needed space if I was going to tell him what I needed to.  
My Gifts, and the problems with them.  
I’d be compelled to stop fighting them…if.  
I can’t say I enjoy the memories I drag behind me every day, the ones that wake me up every night. When the animal takes over, I forget them all, because I forget myself. And it feels like freedom.  
But it means I forget him.  
I can lose myself, but I can’t lose him.  
“I…It’s my Gifts.” I took a breath. “I thought I was improving…but there’s, I don’t know, backlash. I don’t know how to explain it.”  
Not being able to control what was happening. Not even being able to scream. Not even being able to see.  
He waited for me to continue.  
“It’s the animal. He’s all scrambled, like he doesn’t know what he wants to be and he just takes me over. And I’m turning into everything at once, and I can’t control anything at all, it’s like my body isn’t my own. Just this big twitching mess on the ground with feathers and scales and fur…”  
He was biting his tongue, but let me continue.  
“I’m sorry I’ve been difficult lately. I’m sorry, Gabriel. I just…”  
I couldn’t continue. I didn’t know how.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said. “None of this is your fault.”  
How many times will he have to say that before I start believing him?

I was in his arms.  
What was it like hugging David?  
Did he make you feel safe, despite everything?  
Did he make you feel like the only person in the world?  
Like you were so important, even when all you wanted to do was dissolve?  
Yeah, I know.  
Me too.

I said it to him then.  
I was so terrified of the possibility of not getting another chance that I said it to him then.  
I didn’t even think about it. It just…happened.

“I love you.”

Good timing, right?  
Yeah. Yeah, I know.  
He stiffened a little when he heard it.  
“What did you say?” he asked gently, bowing his head down, bringing his face closer to mine to better hear.  
I had stopped crying by then, but I could still feel the stiffness of the tracks left behind. I scoffed a little, because I’m not so much of an idiot that I couldn’t realize what shitty timing I had.  
“I love you.”  
I met his eyes, and he was looking at me with such amazement, Deb. It’s not…  
I never thought I could make someone look like that.  
I ran my hands through my hair and muttered a swear because he wouldn’t stop staring at me and I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. He reached to me and lightly cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs skimming my cheekbones, bringing me back to face him. He touched me so gently it was as though he was afraid something would break if he pressed too hard.  
“You love me.”  
“Yeah.”  
He let out a breath I doubt he’d known he was holding in. A smile started tugging at the sides of his mouth. I had to laugh a little, Deb, at his complete disbelief. He kept saying it, over and over. And each time, I responded with the same thing.  
“You love me.”  
“Yes, Gabriel. I love you.”  
He bit his lip and looked like he didn’t know whether to smile or cry. He kissed me instead.  
“Nathan. I love you. I love you.”  
He kept repeating it to me, kept kissing me. And I kept saying it back.  
I wasn’t the only one who cried that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

I’ve taken to wearing Gabriel’s sweaters when it’s a bad day. Which is often, now. Usually I can tell right when I wake up. I can feel the animal pacing in my stomach, the rainwater rushing through my veins and the vines taking root in my head. I don’t know how to explain it better. It’s like I’m becoming part of the woods.  
When he’s around I feel more myself, so when he’s not around, being able to smell his scent is the next best thing. Like coffee and flour and just that smell of him I can't quite explain.  
The other day he was getting ready for work and he—  
if I would ever visit, which I doubt. It’s nice to think about, but with my sensitivity to all things electric and with my Gifts so haywire already, I wouldn’t want to risk it. I don’t want to hurt anyone. And if I ever seize again, I don’t want Gabriel to see it.  
He knows that this isolation is good for me, but he’s worried it might be too much, that I might be spending too much time with myself. He frets that I might get lost again, that I’m not eating enough, that I’m not happy. I think that more than anything is why he finally quit his tutoring job.  
He wants me to meet the others he’s met, I know. He wants to show me to his friends. I think he wants to brag, which is nice, if incorrect. Gabriel is the beautiful one. I’m just a big bundle of scar tissue.  
Every time he leaves for work he tells me he loves me. I think it’s so he can hear me say it back. He gets so excited, Deb. This morning he was making—  
have a lot more free time. I found a lake a while ago that he still hasn’t been to. I’ve been trying to see if I can make water freeze, so we might be able to ice skate before winter even hits, if I really get the hang of things.  
I should go gather up what I’ve grown to bring back to the cottage. It’s a ways away, so it will probably take—  
Deb.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

These are getting more spread out, I know. I’m sorry.  
Deb, I’ve been going in and out of time.  
Everything will just stop. I don’t notice it when I’m alone as much, but I think it’s been happening more often than I’ve realized.  
The first time I noticed was after I’d gone hunting. We were running low on meat. After the night I broke down, I didn’t want him to worry about me more than he already was, so I figured I could at least try to hunt for a little bit, if I was careful.  
I was distracted the whole time, dragging myself away from my animal to make sure I remembered who I was. It was a long and frustrating process. I spent hours in the woods trying to catch something proper, and after ages I finally got a few rabbits for dinner.  
I used all the hot water trying to scrub the blood off of me, and then some cold water, too. Winter has been coming fast, so I was shivering by the time I was done.  
Gabriel made a fire in the fireplace and handed me a mug of hot chocolate once I was dressed. We sat on the couch as he poked the fire and made sure I drank; I’ve not had much of an appetite lately, and he’s been worried, even though I tell him not to. He hasn’t said anything about me stealing his clothes yet. I think he likes that I wear them.  
He made us a cocoon of quilts, and we laid there on the couch, my back to his chest in front of the fire. He curled his fingers through my wet hair and read aloud in French. I listened—  
let them lull me into a hazy, half-asleep state. The scent and warmth of the fire and him combined was so comforting.  
I was drowsy and full and warm, and being there felt so right. I guess my animal was still a bit more alert than I thought, having been let out so recently. Before I had that seizure and shut him away, I’d been thinking of practicing cat forms—nothing big, just the little domestic ones. So I think it was what he’d been planning on next, before I pulled him away from the hunt.  
So, um.  
I, ah.  
Well.  
I started purring.  
Don’t laugh! Stop laughing.  
Fuck you both. He laughed at me too.  
I swore at him.  
“No, no—you are! Well, now you’re not.”  
“Shut up,” I muttered, entirely mortified. I couldn’t even look at him.  
“Wait. Do it again,” he said, still trying not to laugh. “Is there a spot? Should I scratch behind your ears?”  
“Stop…” I groaned at him, but let him pull me back into him.  
“Is it here?” he asked, running his hands through my hair and then more slowly down the back of my neck. “Is that why?”  
I should explain what he meant. I have this spot where my neck meets my shoulders that’s really sensitive. Every time anyone touches it my back arches and I gasp and just sort of fall forward, I can’t really explain it well. I don’t know. Annalise found it once and thought it was funny. Gabriel found it once and uses it against me every opportunity he can.  
“Ugh.” I buried my face in his shirt and thumped his shoulder lightly. “No, Gabriel.”  
“Alright, okay. Don’t set the plants on me.”  
“Oh. Are they growing?”  
“The little one in the corner looks like it’s trying to climb out of the pot.”  
“Oh. Oops. Sorry.”  
He laughed and pressed his cheek to the top of my head before opening his book again.  
I stayed there for a while, enjoying the stillness.  
And then I noticed something odd. About the silence.  
I could feel the heat of the fire, and see the light of it across us, but I couldn’t hear it alongside Gabriel’s voice, which was soft and steady.  
I turned my head, and the fire wasn’t moving.  
“Gabriel.”  
His French stumbled, getting pulled out of the book he’d been so absorbed by. “Ouais?”  
“Look.” I pointed.  
“It’s stopped.”  
“Yes.”  
“Nathan, have you stopped time?”  
“I didn’t mean to.” I got up and looked out the window. Everything outside was equally, eerily still.  
Gabriel was watching me when I turned back and walked to the fire. It looked fake, so still like that. I willed it to move, and almost immediately heard it crackling once more.  
I heard the wind move the fallen leaves outside.  
So, I started time again.  
That time, I started it up again willfully. I noticed in time to catch it. But sometimes, I think I’ve stopped time and started it again without realizing either. When Gabriel is asleep, or when I’m drawing by myself, or walking through the woods. I don’t know.  
I think I’ve stopped and started time when I’m talking with you a few times, too. It must sound like I’m interrupting myself, jumping from one sentence to another, totally unrelated one. But I had been talking in between the two, I guess just not when time was moving. I don’t know. I wish you could tell me for sure.  
I wish I had someone here to show me what to do.  
Love you, Deb. I’ll talk to you later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

My sleepwalking has been getting worse.

The other night, Gabriel woke me up. He was holding my hands to his chest, yelling something I couldn’t hear over the wind.  
We were in the middle of a hail storm, pieces crashing down around us the size of billiard balls. Branches were flying through the air. Trees were felled.  
Both of us were dry. The wind didn’t pull at our hair or our clothes. Completely still amongst all the destruction. Rooted to the ground, in my case, literally.  
Up until about my mid thigh, my legs were covered in roots and vines. Some thin ones spread across my torso, and a few ran down my arms.  
As I took in the surroundings they calmed. Gabriel reached to my hair, and black feathers fell into his hand.  
He said to me, “Are—  
them, is the thing, Deb. They just happen. I don’t know how. And I don’t know how to stop them, either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

Deb.  
You’re Deb. You’re my sister.  
I have Arran. He’s my brother.  
I’m Nathan.  
I have Gabriel. I love Gabriel.

Okay.

I’ve been forgetting things sometimes.  
I’ll be in strange woods and won’t remember how I got there. It’s like when I sleepwalk, but in the middle of the day.  
Sometimes when I’m alone I can remember faces, but not names. So I’m trying to remind myself.

You’re the hardest, Deb. Both your name and your face sometimes fall away.

 

I haven’t seen you in so long.

 

When there’s a big storm, or when I find myself in a very deep part of the forest, that’s when my Gifts call to me most. That’s when I start to forget.  
It’s when I forget my name that it’s hardest to hold off the animal.

He won once. We turned into a wolf. But I was so frightened and anxious and couldn’t remember why, so I just stayed where I’d shifted and paced until a little rut in the dirt from my paw tracks formed. I stayed that way for hours until the animal got too strained trying to pull me away and retreated back inside, leaving me to myself.  
Gabriel. I need to remember.  
I need to remember.

I’m sorry I haven’t been here in so long.  
I want to be better. But…

I…  
.

I love you.  
I’ll remember you. Even if I don’t, I do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

You’re…  
You’re important.  
Yes.  
Who…  
Gabriel. He’s around more often.  
I like that.  
I can hear and smell so much.  
I can hear the bee in the dandelions across the cemetery. The movement of birds’ wings as they swoop through the sky.  
I can smell the mushrooms goring on the trees around here. The moss growing on the rocks around them.  
He smells more nervous than he used to. Sadder.  
Gabriel.  
I…

 

I don’t want him to be sad.

 

…Why is he sad?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

You…  
Yes.

 

…Who are you?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michele.  
Michele, I think I’m losing him.  
My Nathan. I can’t lose my Nathan.  
Michele, j’sais pas quoi faire.  
J’sais pas quoi faire.  
J’sais pas…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely


	4. Chapter 4

I called Van.

I bought a crappy pay-as-you-go flip phone a few months ago. I use it to talk to our landlord, gave it as contact info for my jobs. I keep it in a plastic bag and leave it buried near the other side of the bakery cut Nathan made so it doesn’t hurt him.  
In it, I keep stored the whereabouts of what’s left of the Alliance. It only has three numbers logged in. Hers, Arran’s, and Ellen’s.  
I had to be fast. Nathan was sleeping and the plants weren’t as aggressive that day, but I needed to be back before he woke up, just in case.  
She picked up, after an eternity.  
I explained to her Nathan’s state, and she said she would come over. We didn’t discuss payment, but I know Van. It will be very expensive. But if it gets my Nathan back, it’s worth everything.  
If it doesn’t, well.  
I can’t afford to wait around.  
It’s not my problem if Van can’t deal with that.

She saw him. She was surprised. She didn’t expect him to be this bad, though I’d explained to her what he was like.  
She even tried to talk to him for about thirty seconds, before she realized it was useless.  
He sat uncomprehending as a smoky little dark cloud swirled around him.  
Even though it was probably for nothing, I took Van out of the room to talk to her. If Nathan can still hear anything, I didn’t want him to hear about this.  
Nobody has ever received so many Gifts all at once. Now that they’re all appearing, the magic is taking up all the space. There’s no more room for Nathan. That’s what I’ve guessed, anyway. Van agreed with me.  
“It’s fairly simple. You lost your Gift within yourself. He’s lost himself within his Gifts.”  
“Is it the same potion as the other time, then?”  
“Yes…and no.”  
I let her continue.  
“This is going to be a long process, Gabriel. You’re going to have to force your way through all his Gifts, one by one, to find him.”  
“When is the soonest we can start?”  
“I need time to get the potion ready, and then we need to wait until the new moon, when his Gifts are weakest.”  
“That’s not for three weeks.”  
“Yes.”  
“And presumably his Gifts will keep getting stronger leading up to then.”  
“Presumably, yes.”  
“So he’ll just get even harder to find.”  
“Gabriel, do you remember when Nathan argued with me?” She took a drag from one of her cigarettes. “Because it got him nothing.”  
It got me nothing too.

I can wait three weeks.  
I’m going to have to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve quit the tutoring job.  
With what I made at the bakery and tips I paid off the rent and water bill for this past month, and now I’ve quit that too. With what I’ve stolen and pick-pocketed I paid off both for the next three.  
I am getting him back, no matter what.  
He doesn’t talk now. He didn’t talk much before, but he liked to listen. Now he doesn’t do either.  
When he sleeps, which is little, roots and vines wrap themselves around him. It looks like they’re trying to bury him alive or drag him down into the earth with them.  
When he’s awake, he’ll wander aimlessly around the cottage and around the woods. Sometimes he carries with him a little breeze. Sometimes scales will appear on his face, or his pupils will take a strange shape, or his hair turns to feathers. Whenever that happens I make sure to stay around him. He used to say being around me helped him control his Gifts. I hope it’s still true now. Because if he turns into something, I’m not sure he’ll ever turn back.  
Sometimes he has bouts where he’s more aware than usual. I’ll look in his eyes and see that he’s really looking back, and not just staring out into nothing. It’s only for a few seconds, but when that happens, I make sure to talk to him. I don’t know how much he retains in this state he’s in, but I need him to know that he’s going to be fine. That I’m going to get him back. That I love him.  
A few days ago I told him that, that I loved him. I’m never sure how much he hears. But shortly after I felt something tickling my left hand, as I was cooking, and I looked over to find a little thorn bush with his little red rose blooming, reaching towards me.

That was hard, Michelle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was invisible today.  
I could hear him breathing next to me. And I could see the roots and vines moving, feel the breeze he always carries with him. But I couldn’t see him. The plants seemed to be twisting around thin air.  
I ran my hands down him shoulder and arm until I found his hand, and I held it as tightly as I could. To hold something so solid, yet look down and see nothing there, was a strange and frightening thing.  
I listened to where I heard his breathing and reached out carefully until I found his face, his head. I pet his hair.  
“Nathan. Nathan, love, wake up.”  
His breathing caught and then started up faster than before, so I guessed he was awake.  
“Nathan, we’re going to go inside, alright?”  
He didn’t say anything and I still couldn’t see him, but when I tugged on his hand he got up and walked with me. I lead him through the house until I found what I was looking for.  
I wrapped a little cloth napkin around his wrist, so it wouldn’t pinch him, and then zip-tied our wrists together. I would have used normal rope, but I was afraid the plants or the breeze around him would worry it undone.  
Ouais, Michele, I know it was kind of a futile effort. If he’d shifted he would have gotten out of it easily. But I didn’t know what else to do, and I didn’t want him just wandering around invisible, unaware. I held his hand whenever I could, comforted by the warmth and weight of him.  
He became visible a few hours later, but I kept us bound together for a while after that, still worried. And once I finally cut off the ties, I kept him close to me, just in case.  
Nathan now is much more compliant than he used to be, so he let me lead him and sit him down wherever I wanted to. He sat there quietly, no arguments, no scowls, just staring off into space with that stupid goddamned breeze.  
Putain.  
My Nathan.  
My lovely, wild, untamable Nathan.  
He used to be a thunderstorm, Michele. He used to be an earthquake.  
He used to be a force of nature. Now, there’s no force. There’s no will. There’s just that blank black stare, the vines slowly creeping around him, the cold breeze softly blowing.  
He used to be a force of nature, before nature overcame him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had to give him a shower today.  
He won’t do it on his own accord. He doesn’t have the presence of mind.

He’s so gone.

I hugged his face to my chest and kissed his cheek, comforting him but, really, just comforting myself.  
Our shower is a little broken. We used to have a knob that would make water come out of either a spout at the top or a hand-held showerhead. We ran out of hot water one day and Nathan accidentally melted the overhead trying to heat up the pipes.  
I turned the water on warm and stepped in next to him, still wearing my night clothes. I washed his hair as gently as I could, worrying at the tangles with the suds until they were free. He had so many of them I was afraid I was hurting him, but if he was in pain he didn’t say anything. Not that he would. Some feathers fell out, too. They were the same color as his hair, so I hadn’t noticed them from far away.  
I washed the rest of him and wrapped him in the biggest towel we own. I was soaked and dripping everywhere. I left quickly and changed into different clothes so I wouldn’t slip while helping Nathan.  
When I returned, he was still in the same spot, his hair all stuck up in little black tufts from where I’d rubbed it dry.  
But Michele, he looked sad.  
He looked sad.  
He felt something.  
That means he must have had at least a little inkling of what was going on, right? To know enough to feel? And to be able to show it?  
I hope so. Oh, I hope so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think he’s been stopping time. That’s the only explanation I can think of.  
How could he have gotten that far away that fast otherwise?  
I was looking straight at him. He was sitting at the table and I’d been preparing dinner, but I’d stopped to watch him. He wasn’t doing anything in particular, but it’s so abnormal to see Nathan as still as he’s been, sometimes it unsettles me.  
I was watching him, and then he was gone.  
“Nathan?”  
I stepped away from the counter, still staring at his chair. I thought he’d gone invisible, so I reached out to touch him. My fingers met nothing but air.  
“Nathan?”  
He wasn’t there. Okay. Alright. Don’t panic.  
He wasn’t anywhere in the living room, or in the bathroom, or in the little clearing that used to be our back yard (it’s become increasingly smaller because of his pull on the plants). I searched everywhere. I even walked around with my hands out, skimming surfaces, in case he was there and was just unaware that he was invisible.  
Don’t panic.  
“Nathan?”

He was in the trees a few steps away from our cottage. I found him standing amongst the roots, and was grateful to see that they were mostly immobile.  
My heart rate was still much too fast, but I found him. I thought I’d lost him, that he’d turned invisible and I would never find him.  
“Oh.”  
I wanted to hold him, to make sure he was tangible in front of me, but he was standing oddly. He had something in his hands, holding it close to his torso. “What’s that?”  
I took his hands in mine and opened them.  
He was holding a little bird.  
It had a broken wing, and it started cooing and flapping its good one when I took Nathan’s hand away from the top of it. He brought it back close to him, edging a bit away from me, and covered it once more, calming it.  
I searched his face for anything. Any comprehension, any emotion. Despite his actions, it stayed blank.  
He stood holding the bird for a long time. None of us made a sound.  
And then, he opened his hands, and it flew away.  
He stared after it.  
“Nathan.”  
I hugged him then, and he did nothing.  
I led him back into the cottage. All the food was burned. I didn’t try to eat.

What if this happens and he stops time long enough to really get far away?  
What if he wanders so far that I never find him?  
What if he doesn’t even start time back up?

Michele, I’m worried. I’m really, really worried.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Should I tell you about the way he used to look at me?  
Or the way he used to move?  
Should I tell you about how we used to speak?  
Or the words he used to say to me when we…  
Putain.  
Michele.  
He almost killed me today.

He made a storm again. It was a big one.  
When he gets like that I can’t stop him from leaving. He’d blow the cottage down without hesitation if he had to.  
The rain was nearly horizontal, cold as ice, and hard as diamonds. The sky was dark as charcoal. The plants were writhing and withering, vines spurting and twisting like piles of snakes.  
Lightning struck over and over, many much too close to Nathan for my comfort. When it hit the ground, the force of the bolt turned everything white.  
The lightning left fire and the wind blew it across the ground in streaks. Some were put out by the rain, leaving trails of black slashing across the ground. Others were picked up by the plants, and burned furiously.  
My love was surrounded by a halo of fire. He was the only thing still in the landscape. I thought it was a trick of the flickering light, but as I got closer to him, I realized the shimmer and shine of his skin was actually little patches of scales.  
I tried to run to him, which I shouldn’t have done. He was safer than I was, after all, despite being out in the middle of it. I tried to call his name, but the wind stole my voice and took the sound from it.  
He turned and looked me right in the eye. His gaze was an animal, Michele. Yellow iris, slit pupil.  
And then the lightning struck.  
It hit the earth right where I’d been about to put my foot.  
Its light is the last thing I remember.

He didn’t come back for me.

I used to have this hope that one day I could take him out with me in public. Once he got better with his Gifts, and his headaches started going away, and he got less anxious around big crowds. I just wanted to take him out on a date. That was my hope.  
We’ve eaten at cafés and restaurants, yeah, but I wanted to really take him out. I wanted to go into a city, maybe Paris, because that one doesn’t hold bad memories for either of us. And I wanted to spend a day with him in one of the museums and tell him about all the art there, explain to him who the artists were and why they created what they did. I don’t know how much art he’s been able to see, besides his own. He would’ve liked to learn more about it, I think. He was really only little, before the Council took him—he can’t have seen very much.  
I wanted to watch his face change as he took in Monet, Michelangelo, and Picasso. I wanted to hear what he felt about each piece of art. I wanted to wander through the Louvre for hours with him.  
After the museum, if he was tired of being indoors, we’d go to the Seine or one of the jardins and we’d walk around there. He’d scoff at the way all the plants were precisely arranged and make quite a few of them grow in every direction just for the fun of the chaos.  
We would walk down the paths, and he would let me sling my arm around his shoulders, so everyone would know I was his and he was mine.  
I’d buy a bottle of wine (for me, since he refuses to drink it) and some fromage and a baguette and we’d picnic under the Eiffel Tower, off to the side that’s more covered in trees, away from the brunt of the crowd. I’d make us stay there until dusk, and kiss him as it lit up and sparkled above us.  
I had that dream for Paris.  
I had others for London, for Dublin, for Florence and Barcelona and New York and Los Angeles and anywhere, everywhere else. I wanted to conquer the world with him.  
But.  
This…is. This is this.  
This was not supposed to happen.

Two more weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve been stealing more.  
We don’t need the money. I’ve just gotten to liking it.  
The search, the adrenaline. It helps me forget. And, I suppose it’s productive.  
I made over a hundred pounds today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He used to say so much by not talking.  
The way he moved, the way he held himself, the expressions he made, the tone of his voice. They were all windows into the glorious mind of the boy I loved so much.  
Still love. I still love him. But he’s not…he’s not him.  
I’m going to get him back.  
I loved the way he used to say my name.  
The rough way he’d say it when he woke up.  
The way he’d shout it after I pissed him off.  
The way it would fizz upwards when he said it in a laugh, or drop downwards when I kissed him.  
The way he whispered it to the night sky with his head thrown back as he shivered under my touch, sparks drifting from his fingers.  
He was mine, and I was his.  
Now he’s just a silhouette.  
With all his Gifts, he’s revealed another one. It’s like invisibility, but it’s so much worse.  
He’s become a ghost.  
He used to be my light, but now he’s just a shadow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I yelled at him today.

He wouldn’t eat. Michele, he won’t ever eat. He’s so skinny.  
The dinner I made us sat in front of him, untouched.  
“You’re not going to eat that.”  
He stared through me.  
“And you’re not going to respond to me.”  
You can imagine what his response was.  
“That’s fine. It’s fine.”  
I took his plate from him. Emptied its contents onto mine to wrap up for later. I’d lost my appetite.  
“It’s fine.”  
I stood up to bring it to the sink.  
I just couldn’t, Michele.  
I just couldn’t.  
I dropped the plate. It shattered on the ground.  
“It’s not fine.”  
“Nathan, it’s not fine.”  
  
“Nathan, answer me.”  
  
“Fucking _answer me_!”  
  
I was standing over him, my face centimeters from his. Screaming.  
“SAY SOMETHING!”

My breathing was heavy in my ears.  
He didn’t say anything, Michele.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair.  
I wish I could say I didn’t know what I wanted to do.  
He didn’t blink.  
I tightened my grip and took a deep breath before I let it go.  
I wanted to hit him. I wanted to bash his head on the table.  
I wanted to hurt him and I wanted him to hurt me back.  
I wanted a reaction. I wanted to fight him.  
I wanted to fight until I heard a sound come out of his mouth.  
Anything.  
Any sound.  
I would do anything to break the silence.

I let him go and bit my lip. I cleaned up the broken plate.  
When I left the room was when I stopped biting down. I tasted blood.

His absence is so loud. It’s always ringing in my ears.  
I love him so much that I hate him. I hate this part of him that’s taken him away from me.  
I love him. I hate him. I love him.  
And so I continue.

Michele, I want my Nathan back.  
I want my Nathan. Not this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ouais. C’est pas une cigarette. Ceci, c’est l’herbe.  
Je sais. Je sais, Michelle. Mais c’est mon besoin maintenant.  
I did something I shouldn’t have.  
I shifted before I did it. I had the troublemaker look down, tattoos and shaved head, mean, thin lips and a particularly ferocious scowl I borrowed from Nathan.  
A muscle in my jaw was jumping. My fingers were twitching in anticipation.  
And then I went looking for a fight.  
I found one.

There were two of them, and one of me.  
I’m the one who started it.  
“What the fuck is your problem?”  
I swung at one, and the other guy tried to grab me.  
I threw the second one on the ground. He had short blonde hair. I remember that.  
Once I was done, it had blood in it.  
I kicked him as many times as I could before the first one came back.  
He punched me in the face. I kneed him in the gut and boxed his ears. I elbowed him in the nose and I spat in his face.  
There was blood on his teeth.  
I stole their wallets.  
In my defense, they didn’t look like good people. But then, neither did I.

I came back with a big bruise across my right cheek.  
Can you guess what Nathan did, Michele?  
Ouais. Rien. Il n’a fait rien.

I found this joint in one of their wallets.  
I think I deserve to forget for a while, don’t you?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every day is the same. I check first thing in the morning that he’s there next to me. I clean away the plants that have grown over him in the night. I lead him into the kitchen and make us breakfast.  
Sometimes he eats a few bites of his. Usually, he doesn’t.  
If his hair is looking particularly snarly I’ll brush it out. If he’s been wearing the same clothes for too long, I’ll help him change.  
If he seems restless, I’ll zip-tie our wrists together just in case he turns invisible again (he’s done it twice more since the first time) and walk with him through the woods, hoping that he won’t summon a storm. If he’s not, I keep him next to me while I try to read, or cook, or anything to keep my mind off of the absence that is his presence.  
If it’s been too long, I’ll give him another shower. I don’t like doing that—it makes me the saddest—so sometimes he gets a little bit grimy.  
I wake myself up every hour or so in the night to make sure he’s still there, that the vines haven’t completely crawled over him.  
By some miracle, he hasn’t been shifting. If he did, I don’t think I would ever get him back. That’s what I use to reassure myself that there’s still a bit of him left inside there, deep down.  
Ten days. Ten more days.  
I don’t think I can take ten more days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I loved the way he used to wear my clothes.  
Sometimes when I would get back from the bakery he wouldn’t be home. He’d still be practicing his Gifts. Mostly, that was a good sign. I remember once, though, he came back and he had a little limp in his step, like he’d strained the muscles in his legs. His face was pale, and his mouth was a tight line. He wouldn’t talk to me that day. That was one of the worst days.  
I know he only used to wear them when he was having a bad day. In a strange sort of way I was sort of proud that that’s what he did to help himself, but it also made me feel a twinge of guilt that I wasn’t there for him.  
I could have been there for him. I should have. But I wanted to see if I could be good. If I could stop stealing and running and hurting people and get an actual job. Obviously all my good did was make the bad get worse faster.  
I can’t think about “what if’s”. What if I’d been there for him more, what if he’ll never get better, what if he’s stuck like this forever. No.  
I’d get home from work, and usually around that time was when he’d be taking a nap. He has so much trouble sleeping at night, he works until he’s exhausted during the day, so then he doesn’t have any dreams when he naps.  
Sometimes he’d just continue laying there or reach for his sketchpad. He’d tilt his face up to me for a kiss, but that was all. When he did that, I’d leave him be alone for a little while longer and occupy myself elsewhere.  
Sometimes when he heard my keys he’d get up and hug me as I entered the doorway. His eyes would be tired and his hair would be every which way, and he’d smell like the fresh scent of the woods and sleep. I have this favorite dark green sweater, but now I prefer it on him. It’s a little oversized on me, so it’s a lot oversized on him. The sleeves always fall down and cover his hands, so he had to roll them up every five minutes. So much useless work.  
On the days that he’d come up to me I’d make sure to touch and hug him more often, because I could sense he was unsettled. Slowly, “those days” became every day, but.  
I thought we could deal with it.  
Dieu, he was adorable. He hated when I told him that. He hated whenever I complimented him. Obviously nobody had ever complimented my beautiful Nathan enough. He was getting better at accepting them, but mostly he’d just turn red and scowl at the ground, or tell me to fuck off. He wasn’t used to being told what he really was. He’d been fed hateful words so often he had a hard time believing it, but that just made me say it more. And I’ll keep saying it, however long it takes, for him to believe me.  
Beautiful, incredible, funny, loyal, sexy, smart, strong, brave, gorgeous, amazing…  
If only he was still here to listen.  
My Nathan was so much.  
He was so important.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All of our food is rotten. The milk is spoiled, the bread is moldy, and the meat is long gone.  
But I have a lot of extra money from all my recent exploits, and Nathan hasn’t been eating, so I bought something I need more than food right now.  
I need to leave this house.  
I can’t leave this house.  
I have to stay.  
But I don’t have to stay sober.  
I’d prefer wine. I’d like to relax. I usually never drink to get drunk: It reminds me too much of dad.  
But he’s gone, and I feel like I’m falling apart, so I’ll sear myself together with the burn of vodka and maybe I’ll be able to stay for a little longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t know what I was intending to find today, but Sophie wasn’t it.  
“Gabriel! It’s so good to see you! How have you been?”  
“I’ve been great, thanks. How’re you?”  
“Ah, a bit stressed, you know. Finals,” she laughed, her voice a little high.  
“Ah. Yeah. I know.” I tried to make my smile look easy, but a small muscle jumped in my jaw. I don’t think she noticed.  
“How’s cute Nathan doing?”  
“He’s great. Really doing well.”  
“He’s an artist, you said, right?”  
“Yeah, his drawings are something to see. They really light up a room.”  
“Ah, the good ones are always taken.”

Small talk sucks, Michele.

What if I had told her I wasn’t doing well? That Nathan was sick and I was dying inside? Do you think she would take it seriously? Do you think she would listen? Do you think she would care?  
Or do you think she wouldn’t take the five seconds to look outside of herself?  
I’m being hard on her, but it’s not just her.  
I used to like learning about people.  
But all I’ve learned recently is they only see what they want to.  
I’ve been great.  
Ignore the bags under my eyes, the unwashed clothes, the tangled hair, the bloodshot eyes, the tightness of my lips. All you need to do is listen, and don’t question it.  
Because everything is really, truly great.  
Perfect.  
Everything is exactly how I always wanted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I went out that night without a plan. I went out without thinking anything but escape, even though I don’t have that option.  
I never thought I would want that option.  
I went out, and I left the love of my life behind in search of the artificial kind.

I didn’t catch his name. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to know.  
He had a nice smile. I hated it.  
I kissed him hard, hard enough to bruise.  
How dare he be happy, when we’re suffering so much.  
I wanted to lose myself in the almost. Toeing that frightening line between sex and violence.

I’m so petty, Michele.

He kissed my neck, and all I could think of was someone who’d done it before, better.  
I had a smoky, half-formed idea in my mind.  
I was feeling reckless.  
I’ve been so controlled. All I wanted was release.  
I wanted to do something oh, so bad.

“Let’s get out of here,” I whispered in his ear.

We took his car.  
We didn’t go back to his place.  
Instead, we went to mine.

I know what I wanted. It was the same as last time.  
Remember when we were little, and I used to act out when our parents were ignoring us?  
I haven’t changed, it seems. I’m still just as immature.

I knew the car would hurt Nathan’s head.  
I hoped it would.  
I hoped it would hurt him enough to wake him up.  
I hoped he would hear us as I slammed the front door open and pulled the guy with no name into our space. I hoped he would hear us as we stumbled through the darkness. I hoped he would hear it all from outside, and care.  
I hoped he would get angry. I hoped he would get sad. I hoped he would have a reaction. Anything. Even violence. If it brought Nathan out of his Gifts even a little bit, I didn’t care who his magic hurt.  
“Where’s the light switch?”  
“Didn’t pay the bills,” I mutter back, pushing him onto the couch.  
As I kissed him and felt his hands on me, I imagined vines ripping him away, the wind tossing him outside, little balls of fire ablaze in the night.  
I wanted it to happen.  
I wanted him to get hurt so I could see that my love still cared for me.  
I wouldn’t have cared if this person was hurt.  
I wouldn’t even have cared if he died.  
I was willing to make the sacrifice to see that Nathan was still with me.

It became apparent what was going to happen and what wasn’t, and I was disgusted with myself.  
The guy with no name was confused.  
He couldn’t understand why I’d become so cold so suddenly.  
I was revolted by him and everything he represented. Everything that had almost happened, but didn’t.  
I told him to leave.  
I yelled until he did.  
I waited until I couldn’t hear his tires anymore.  
I listened to the breeze and held my head in my hands.

“You love me.”  
“Yes, Gabriel. I love you.”

Is this the sort of thing we were destined for? Black Witches?  
Is this the sort of violence our parents did to one another?

I thought Nathan and I could be better.

One more week.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I called Arran.  
I can’t stay with him all the time. It’s doing bad things to me. I don’t like who I’m becoming when I spend too much time with him.  
I love him, I hate him, and I hate myself.  
This is so fucked, Michele.  
Arran’s with him today.  
I’m going to avoid thinking about it unless I have to.  
Six days left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five days left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you prepared to do this?” Van asked me.  
I’ve been ready for weeks.  
She told me I had to spend the night indoors.  
I’ll go in gladly.  
I want the headaches, the banging, the scratching, the voices.  
After what hell I’ve been through, it will feel like salvation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The stake is sharp, and it’s time.


	5. Chapter 5

Animals. Plants. Fire. Lightning. Time Stopping. Weather. Invisibility. Potions. Appearance shifting. Healing.  
Those were the ones Van listed off.  
She told me the ones most separated from him, the ones he hasn’t exhibited, will come first. The closer I get to him, the stronger the Gifts I’ll have to face.  
She’s not sure about potions or appearance shifting. Neither of those has appeared, so we don’t have a clue how intense they are. His potions gift could be as weak as a normal Witch’s, or it could be as strong as Van’s herself. And as for his appearance, she doesn’t know what Celia meant.  
I think I have a clue, but I’m hoping I’m wrong. I think you know what I mean, Michele.  
Ten Gifts. I only have to battle my way through ten Gifts. Then I can get my Nathan back.  
I was holding his hand in mine. The same one that has the scar from so long ago, when he saved my Gift. It’s only fitting now that I save him.  
We’d had to drink a glassy blue potion. I made sure he drank his first, helping him when he needed. Then, I drank mine.  
With him so unaware, I didn’t want to hurt him, and Van was wary we’d accidentally spark a fight-or-flight response from the pain. But it has to be done.  
I looked into his unseeing eyes as I felt the stake pierce through my skin. The potion made everything seem as though it was floating away.  
“I’m getting you back,” I told him. “I love you.”  
Seems like we have the same type, Michele.  
We both love such dangerous men.  
Then, everything went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first one wasn’t potions, or shifting, or healing.  
The first one was invisibility.  
When Nathan is invisible is one thing.  
But when everything is?  
When everything is invisible around you, do you know what you see?  
Nothing. No shapes, no shadows, no ground and no sky.  
No color I could name.  
I was alone.  
Truly, terrifyingly alone.

I was frozen.  
My chest was tight, my lungs straining.  
The only thing I could see was myself.  
I felt much too big and incredibly tiny.  
I wanted to panic.  
I could feel it closing in.  
There was nothing there, and everything all at once.  
So much space, and yet none. I felt so claustrophobic. I suppose when nothing exists, the concept of distance doesn’t, either.

And then I took a deep breath.  
And I thought of the way he kissed my cheek to thank me when I cooked for him, and how he insisted on going for a run every day, twice a day, no matter if it was sunny or pouring and he’d come back dripping and red-faced and shivering but so satisfied, and how on cold nights he would make soft little fire balls to swirl around me when I couldn’t seem to get warm and had stolen all the blankets.  
I took a step towards nothing.  
My foot landed on something solid that I couldn’t see. And then I took another.  
And another.

It helped if I closed my eyes. I just stopped trying to look, because there was nothing to see. That make a bit of the panic go away.  
My steps were slow and halting. I wasn’t used to trying not to see where I was going. But I kept walking, and I walked…somewhere else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It started as a breeze.  
I felt it through my hair, through my clothes. It was warm and mild, and was immensely comforting after being in the nowhere that was the invisibility Gift. I opened my eyes to find myself standing on a barren plateau, with nothing but blue sky and a few clouds overhead.  
I continued walking.  
I walked for ages.  
The clouds gathered.  
The wind gained momentum.  
Soon, I was struggling just to continue my pace.  
The sky was violet, indigo, and a sickly shade of green.  
The wind knocked me down, and then it picked me up.  
It threw me ten meters back. I skidded on the stone.  
I scrabbled for something, a handhold or a toehold, as if I were scaling a cliff. There was nothing.  
I shifted. Turned into a big and bulky guy, over six feet tall, all muscle. In that form, I was able to make some headway, but it was painstakingly slow going.  
The wind circled and spun until it made the beginnings of a vortex near me.  
Flecks of dirt burrowed into my skin. I pulled my jacket over my nose to protect me face, but I could barely open my eyes. I didn’t even know what I was looking for. I just knew I needed to continue.  
And then, I saw him.  
A little sparrow, flitting from one current to the other. Hardly ever even opening his wings. Zipping through the air by the force of the wind, letting it guide him, riding it. He was so fast, and so small, and so high up, he was almost out of sight. And then he rode the currents back down, and shot straight past my head.  
I threw an arm up over my head to protect myself. The wind almost got me—I nearly lost my balance.  
Up, down. And again.  
And again. And again.  
And then I understood.  
I had to let go. I had to let the wind take me, and ride the currents wherever they pushed me.  
I’ve never had a fear of heights before now, but not finishing this was even scarier.  
This, this was something physical.  
I could deal with this.  
This was easy.  
I took a deep breath, turned back into me, and before I could think better of it  
I screwed my eyes shut, just like last time. And I  
Let  
Go.

The wind picked me up and tossed me around and all I could do was flail and scream, helpless against the storm. Once it became apparent that I was not going to fall to my death, the sensation of extreme terror still took about as long as you would think to dissipate, which is to say, much too long. But after a few hours, being immersed in fear got fatiguing, and was replaced by a niggling, tedious boredom. It’s interesting how even the strangest and most trying of circumstances can become routine. But then, I’d just been through the most trying time of my life.  
After watching the love of my life die slowly within himself, what is impending doom, really?  
The bird glided serenely next to me as I tumbled through the air. I figured out the more I relaxed, the easier the flight was.  
Sometimes some bumps in the wind would startle me and I’d tense up again, and then I’d have to convince myself to relax once more. But after a while, after so long fighting, I just couldn’t do it anymore. And after that, I actually managed to fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I remember one afternoon.  
It was a Sunday, warm and lazy. We were lying in the grass. I was sunbathing. Nathan was sketching. We were bickering lightheartedly, about what I don’t remember, not that it was of any importance.  
He touched his nose and left a dark smudge on the bridge of it, along with a lighter one near the little divot between his upper lip and his left nostril.  
I grinned. “You’ve got something there.”  
“Where?” He reached up to wipe it away, before realizing his hands were black from his pencils and holding them away from himself.  
“Here.” I touched the smudges with the tips of my fingers and kissed them lightly. He cupped my cheek in his hand as I did so, and laughed when I pulled away.  
“You’ve got a bit…”  
“Have I? Where?” My aim was obvious, but he obliged me anyway, and left a kiss where each of his fingers had marked.  
He touched my neck, and kissed the trailing dark lines across it.  
He sprinkled my collarbone with black dots and kisses.  
I took off my shirt, and he laughed at me. “Someone is much too prepared, right now.”  
I kissed him as a way of responding.  
He left a handprint on the center of my chest, and kissed the tip of each shadowy finger and the blurry center of the palm.  
And then he decided he’d try something a bit more technical.  
He started by using his fingers, but as he became more immersed and more invested in not just me but his artwork on me, he used his bluntest piece of charcoal chalk to define the edges of his creations.  
He drew paw prints trailing down my ribcage.  
He made a full moon rise on my bottom right rib, and the silhouette of a wolf howl to it on my left hipbone.  
He made forests of pines grow from my wrists up my arms, topped by mountains covered in hazy clouds at my shoulders.  
Mirrored birds on either side stretched their wings from my shoulder blades.  
A waterfall careened down the side of my neck to pool peacefully in the junctions between my throat and my collar bones and dripped slowly down past the handprint.  
Each drawing he finished with a kiss.  
My Nathan did more than show me his artwork—he made me a part of it.  
It was even more beautiful than anything either of our parents made.  
After he was done, I was afraid to move. Despite the dark smudges on his face, his teeth were white as ever when he laughed at how stiffly I held myself.  
“It’s supposed to be temporary, you know.”  
I hurried to the mirror and marveled at what he’d done.  
“I’m never going to wash this off. I’m never gonna take a shower again.”  
“That’s a shame, because I’m never letting you in bed covered in that. We’d never be clean again.”  
“Nathan, this is amazing.”  
He scoffed and looked down. “Sure.”  
“It is. Look at this!”  
To his credit, he did look. But from the expression on his face I gathered he wasn’t paying much attention his drawings. Not…that that really bothered me.  
He walked up to me with a wicked grin and kissed me on the mouth.  
Then he kissed his waterfall, and smeared it away in a single motion.  
I started to protest, but he made a shushing sound and rose back up to peck me on the lips before doing it again with the hand print. Then one bird, then the other.  
The mountains.  
The forests.  
The paw prints.  
The moon.  
The wolf…  
He bit his tongue, raised an eyebrow and grinned as he watched my expression change when his fingers lingered there.

We were both covered in black powder by the end of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My wakeup call was not peaceful.  
The lightning bolt hit the ground about two meters from my head and I could no longer hear. My heart skipped a beat in terror, and I couldn’t breathe. The smaller sparks stretched their glowing, threadlike fingers across the earth toward me. My hair stood on end, and I could smell something burning. That something was about to be me.  
The sparrow tugged at my clothes and fluttered around my face, batting me with his wings. It was enough to jolt me into motion.  
I threw myself upright and half stumbled, half ran away. Another bolt hit, directly in front of me. I must have looked drunk, taking stuttering, stumbling steps this way and that trying to predict where the next bolt would strike and failing miserably.  
The bird stayed near me. I stopped breathing every time I lost sight of him in a flare, thinking he had gotten killed. And every time I lost focus on myself, it seemed the lightning was getting closer, and closer.  
I think I know why that little bird was so important.  
Ages. Eons. We spent so long skirting and ducking around lightning strikes. I couldn’t hear a thing. My eyes were watering. My head was pounding. My skin was tingling, and my hair was burned.  
Everything went white. And then everything went black.  
Et puis tout etait blanc encore.  
“That’s too bad, Gabriel. But you’ll get it on the second try.”  
I screamed as Van pulled the stake out of our hands.  
Nathan’s eyes were still closed, and his face was pale. The bags under his eyes made him look half dead.  
“I didn’t get any potions Gift,” I gasped. “It was the weather one! He’s already familiar with weather. Why did that one show up before the lightning?”  
Van shrugged as she cleaned the coagulated blood off the stake. I kept our hands conjoined, afraid moving might hurt me—or him—more.  
“Your guess is as good as mine. Last time I checked, strangely enough, the only other person we could have asked about having numerous Gifts is particularly unavailable.”  
I huffed my discontent.  
“Which ones did you face?”  
“Invisibility, weather, and lightning.”  
“Good enough start. Just try not to die next time.”  
And then she reinserted the stake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Close your eyes, tame your fear, and walk through nothingness.  
Let go, or stay forever struggling to make headway as everything pushes against you.  
Run. Duck and dodge. Never trip: if you fall, you die. Your head hurts, your ears are ringing, and your vision is riddled with white and black where the lightning has left its imprint. Do not let it stop you.  
Remember the sparrow. Keep following the sparrow.  
Never let him out of your sight, and maybe you’ll reach something.  
Maybe.  
Run.  
You’re breathing in dust, your lungs are bursting, and your legs have gone numb.  
Run.  
Run, and maybe you’ll get there in time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The landscape changed.  
As I ran, the prairie gradually became replaced with trees and underbrush. The sound of lightning faded away, replaced by the rustling of the leaves. I was in the woods, alone on a small path. The sun was setting. It was warm, and everything was green.  
I heard something behind me.  
“Gabriel?”

I whirled around, and there he was.  
My jaw dropped. I couldn’t move, but I didn’t have to. He was already walking towards me.  
Nathan. My Nathan. Looking concerned. Looking right at me. Reaching for me.  
His eyes. His eyes were alive.  
“Gabriel? What’s wrong?”  
His voice brought me back. I reached out and caressed his worried face. I ran my hand through his messy hair. No feathers.  
I held his shoulders and pulled him close. The sudden movement—and, I think, how tightly I was squeezing him—made him gasp. I felt his arms around me. I felt his fingers holding the cloth of my shirt.  
He was so alive.  
“Nothing. Oh, nothing is wrong. Not anymore.”  
“What?” He tried to pull away gently, but I wouldn’t let him. I needed to keep feeling him here. He was here. He was here, with me.  
He smelled like the forest and that little hint of the scent that is him. He was so solid in my arms. So warm. So alive.  
He let me hold him for a while longer, before protesting.  
“Gabriel, I can’t breathe.”  
I let him go a little, but kept my arms around him. He still looked worried.  
He was worried.  
About me.  
About anything.  
His beautiful eyes, dark and searching and intense, flitting across my face. The way he bit his lip and tilted his head. The way he held himself, the way he breathed. Everything.  
He was so alive.  
I kissed him. And I kissed him. And I kissed him.  
“Nathan. Nathan. I love you.”  
He half scoffed, half laughed, the way he does when he’s embarrassed or confused. He was both, but he could see how I was acting, and he understood I was in no position to give him answers just then.  
Instead of asking questions he answered “I love you, Gabriel.” Every time.  
And he kissed me back. Every time.  
I stroked his hair, pressed my hand into the small of his back. Kissed every inch of his skin on his face, and then down his neck and back. He’d exhale a little laugh if it tickled. I brought my hand up from his back to hold his head, skimming his spine. He shivered a bit when my fingers ran over his little sensitive spot, pressing into me more. His arms were around the back of my neck. His breathing was in my ear. My fingers were in his hair.  
My beautiful Nathan. My beautiful, brave, smart, selfless, glorious Nathan. He was back with me. He was here.  
Oh, he was here.  
Oh.

“Ow!”  
Something tugged on my hair, hard.  
I let go of Nathan and turned. I found the sparrow, distressed and cooing, flapping around my head.  
“Hey, stop!”  
He got between me and Nathan, and then he became a wolf. Massive, markings dark grey and striking white on black. He was such dark majesty. Exuding power and destruction.  
Growling and baring his teeth, he crouched.  
“No!”  
I placed myself between them.  
The wolf stayed tense, his eyes focused behind me, and his teeth shining with drool.  
Nathan stood with his knees bent, his lips pursed, and his fists in front of his face.  
My Nathan. It wanted to hurt my Nathan.  
I had no knife, no gun. But to protect Nathan, I would do anything.  
My body was prepared to fight, but my mind wouldn’t stop thinking.  
I still had so far to go.  
Invisibility. Weather. Lightning. Animals. Plants. Fire. Time Stopping. Potions. Appearance shifting. Healing.  
I’d only conquered three.  
I shouldn’t be finding Nathan here. Not yet.  
The wolf started growling again, low in its throat.  
“Gabriel,” Nathan said.  
They could both sense my confliction.

Which was right?  
Which should I believe?  
My Nathan. Was he really mine?  
But was trusting the wolf any better?  
Seven left. I had seven left.  
The next battle could be against the animal. It could be that I was supposed to fight him here, and then battle the next Gifts with Nathan at my side. But, something in me said otherwise. That would be too easy. Nothing about this was easy.  
A weak thing to pit someone’s life against, a hunch.  
“Gabriel.”  
I looked into those dark, serious eyes, and I wanted to believe so much it was him. I wanted it to be him.  
It hurt me so much when I realized I couldn’t fully believe it.  
I closed my eyes, and started to step away.  
“Gab.”

It wasn’t Nathan who spoke to me that time, Michele.  
It was you.

Michele.  
Michele.  
Michele.  
To see you was so good and so heartbreaking.  
“Gab, look at me.”  
« Non, non, non… »

Oh, my beautiful sister.  
You’re older than I was when I lost you, now.  
In two years you’ve grown into such a stunning young woman.  
I missed you so much.  
I’ve been trying not to think of you like that. Apart from me.  
When I talk to you like this, I imagine you’re here because.  
Michele. It’s—  
It’s only been two years since you died.  
I’ve been trying not to think of what happened. To you. To us.  
I miss you so much.

I miss you so much.

You were supposed to come here with me, to Switzerland, to Mercury, to meet Nathan. You were supposed to be here. And you were going to find the perfect Black Witch boy and you would make fun of me with my perfect half-each love, and you and Nathan would argue but adore one another because you were both so stubborn and so alike, and Deborah would still be alive and I wouldn’t have to see him suffer every day underneath the guilt and self-blame he carries of her absence, and he would keep shortening her name and you would keep shortening mine because you both know how it gets on our nerves, and nobody was supposed to die, it was all supposed to be so good, Michele.  
“Gab, I’m here.”

Oh, but you’re not.  
Because you’re not real.  
You’re not real.

It was all supposed to be so good.

My gorgeous sister is a ghost.  
My beautiful boy is a shadow.  
And I’m so broken.

The wolf growled again, and I threw myself at him.  
“Non!”  
I felt him tense and crouch beneath me as I clutched his fur.  
“Non!”  
You weren’t real. You weren’t real, but I couldn’t let him hurt you.  
You’ve been hurt so badly before, Michele.  
And I couldn’t…I couldn’t protect you.  
I just wanted to protect you.  
I just wanted another chance.

The wolf was angry, but I wouldn’t let him get past me.  
You hugged me.  
“Thanks, Gab. I love you.”  
“I love you too,” I choked out.  
I took a deep, shaking breath. I held you back, tightly, because I knew I would have to let you go soon.  
I’m not good at letting go.  
“I’m so glad I got to meet Nathan.”  
My lip was starting to ache, biting down on it so hard.  
“You think Jaz would be jealous? I do. Here’s to hoping your first boyfriend will be your husband one day, huh?”  
I swallowed. “Stop.”

When mom died, I can’t say you were the only thing holding me together. I can’t say that because I never held together—I only tried to run. It took me too long to realize I have our parents’ blood in my veins, and I’ll never outrun the memories, or the consequences they’ve left me. No matter how much I want to forget them.  
There was a turning point there, and I chose the wrong direction.  
You, you were so strong, Michele. You were there, and where was I?  
I was stealing. She was dead. And you were there.  
All I do is steal. Stolen money. Stole myself away, when I should have been with you. Threw myself into loving a boy so I wouldn’t have to remember how lonely I was without you, how guilty I was. I made him my life so I could forget how utterly and unforgivably flawed I was.  
Her blood was on the floor. Finn’s body on the tiles. Your tears on the ground. And my fingers in someone else’s pocket.  
I’m so petty, Michele.

You were quiet.  
My voice was small.  
“Please, stop. You’re not helping.”

I thought I could only ever be strong if I had someone to be strong for. Often what I mistook for strength was just so immensely, pathetically weak.  
I found a way to fight, like I always do, because hurting someone else is easier than looking at the gaping wound consuming me. I was helping fan the flames of the war that you didn’t mean to die in, and you were suffering alone. You were younger than me. I was supposed to protect you. I told myself I was, and I told myself I was being brave, but I have always been a coward.  
I justified my stealing. But I was just finding a different way to blame dad, another way to twist the knife in his back and show him how fucked up he was, how fucked up he made us, and you believed it and I hate how much you hated him.  
You never admitted how much it hurt you when mom died. Neither of us like admitting how much we need people after they leave. But then I started leaving you too, and dad had already decided to go years ago. Of course you went searching solace. And of course it wasn’t me, because I was never there. And now, now you can never be here.

“You’re not real.”

You loved the beach so much.  
With your salty sun-streaked hair blown in your face and with the tan you loved because it was never even, and you thought it was hilarious, and a smile brighter than the sun reflecting on the waves, you looked so happy, Michele. You were always so happy.  
I remember how you would find driftwood and shells and sea glass and you’d make something beautiful. Your sculptures never had the technical skill of our dad’s paintings, but they had the freedom and whimsy you always brought with you.  
They were temporary, and so much more beautiful because of it.  
I wish you didn’t also fall into that category.

I pushed you away from me.  
“You’re not…”  
“Real…”

I used to wonder why it wasn’t me. But that’s such a stupid question.  
Of course it was you. A place like this could never support someone like you.  
I left you alone, and now I am forever lonely.  
Even if I do get Nathan back, the hole in my life where you used to be will never be covered.  
I cannot remember a time when I didn’t have you to rely on.  
I miss you so much.  
I miss you so much.  
I miss you so much.  
These Gifts…  
I know this is not real.  
Because I never deserve a second chance as good as this.

“I’m so sorry.”

I couldn’t control the sob that left me.  
I couldn’t control the wolf as he pounced.

I cried, and you died again.  
Dead, again.  
Murdered.  
Murdered.  
Murdered.  
Michelle…

Dead again.  
Forever.

He took me away.  
He turned into an elk and made me ride on his back because I was crying so hard I couldn’t walk.  
Your blood was on his face.  
I buried my face in his fur so I couldn’t look at you. I dug my nails into my palms until they bled. I sobbed until I felt nauseous, until my throat was scratchy and my eyes were sore.

Appearance changing, down.  
Six more to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He brought me deeper into the forest, where the smell of rotting vegetation was thick and heady and the sun only showed in patches on the ground.  
Adorning the vines were flowers that bloomed bigger than my face, deep wine reds, blacks shimmering in violet and indigo as the light hit them, and yellow-tinted whites. The scent was alluring and deadly, and I needed more.  
In the deepest part of the forest I lost my memories, and didn’t want them to return.  
What I had just witnessed.  
You.  
Nathan.  
Everyone I’ve lost.  
Our parents.  
How long has it been since I thought of our parents?  
I’m only twenty.  
Most people my age still live with them.  
But we were never like most people, were we?  
We’re Black Witches. Destined for so much more.  
Or so much less.  
Dead, again.  
Forever.  
What is the point?  
What is the reason for this?  
Terrible things have happened, and none of them make any sense, and I haven’t learned anything and one of my two favorite people in the world is dead and it means nothing, it stopped nothing, and there is no design in this and there’s no reason like all the books told me there would be and I haven’t become a better person, just a more hateful one, just a weaker one, just one who can’t stand to look at himself for who he is because he’s ashamed of all his actions toward all the people he hasn’t loved enough.  
I never loved you as much as I should have.  
These struggles haven’t made me a better person.  
I just hate it all so much.  
I don’t want to be stronger. I just want it all to be over.

The intoxicating aroma glossed over it all, made it seem like nothing more than a blurry picture drawn by someone else’s hand.  
The deeper I breathed, the better I felt.

I stopped shivering. I was warm, a rolling golden sort of warmth that emanated from within. I stopped crying. I forgot why I had been.  
For the first time in a long time, I felt whole.  
I felt complete.  
I felt…healed.

I slid off of the elk’s back, and walked towards the flowers.  
Their vines wrapped around my wrists as I reached for them, and held tight, sliding around my arms like snakes. I laughed, delighted.  
Everything was so delightful.  
I was still alone, but everything was good anyway.  
Alone, but not lonely.  
I walked further, the vines wrapping around my upper arms, my legs, my torso. I needed to get closer. I needed more of that smell…  
I distantly felt a pain in my left calf, but it didn’t quite register until I realized I couldn’t take another step.  
I looked behind me and giggled.  
The wolf’s fangs were sunk through the muscle of my leg. Blood dripped around his mouth as I tried to walk and he tightened his grip.  
“What a good dog,” I said to him, my voice airy and breathy in my ears. “Fetch.”  
The vines reached for him, and he growled, his fur standing on end.  
He started to pull me backwards, and the pain was enough to bring me back somewhat.  
It had been so nice to forget.  
But if I stayed there, in the vines, I would die. I knew that intrinsically.  
I’d die, and so would Nathan.  
One of the many people I have not loved enough.

I couldn’t protect you, and you had to die again.  
That’s my burden to bear, and more.  
I won’t let him die too.  
I can’t take the weight of another life on my shoulders.  
I am already drowning.

I tried to pull out of the vines, but they wrapped themselves tighter around me.  
The more I fought them, the more the pollen spread, and the stronger the scent became.  
The wolf was trying to help me, but all he succeeded in doing was tearing a gash down my leg. It was starting to affect him, too, and we were both getting weaker.  
I tried to breathe as shallowly as possible, readied myself, and shifted into my smallest form, that of a child. With the propulsion of my own strength and the wolf’s immense power I shot backwards before the vines could tighten around me once more. And then I was back on his back, and we were sprinting.  
Although I was holding on tight, there was a large part of me that wished I was still there, nestled in the vines. Happy and unaware of the death and sadness that has for so long surrounded me.  
You will always be a part of me.  
But so is Nathan.  
I have to find him. The real one.  
I don’t need to lose myself in artificial happiness. I’ll find the real kind soon.  
It won’t be as much.  
But maybe…hopefully…it will be enough.

Five more to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you feeling alright?”  
“Yeah.”  
“You weren’t in bed this morning.”  
“…”  
“And you didn’t eat the breakfast I set out.”  
“…”  
“What did you do today?”  
“Maybe if you were here you’d have known.”  
“I was working, Nathan.”  
He made a face.  
“What was that?”  
“What?”  
“That face.”  
“That’s my face.”  
“Really? Do you think I’m stupid?”  
“Obviously not. I trip over all your books every time I try to walk to the bathroom.”  
“You’re being irascible, and I have no idea why.”  
“And you’re just using words I don’t understand—”  
“So cantankerous, like an old man, in a young person’s body—”  
“And all you do is nag me—”  
“Plants are _everywhere_ —”  
“Look at me, I’m Gabriel with my _flippy hair_ and weird accent and I read so much that I’ve _transcended_ one language—”  
“I don’t sound like that!”  
“I had to learn _two_ languages because one just wasn’t enough for my _massive brain_ and look at all the words that Nathan doesn’t know because he’s _dumb_ —”  
“I would never call you that!”  
“You have definitely called me that.”  
“Well, not with that context. I’ve probably called you an idiot before.”  
“I distinctly remember at least two different times.”  
“You were probably being an idiot.”  
“…”  
“You were, weren’t you?”  
“Stop laughing! I’m still mad at you!”

I’m sure he never explained the fights we used to have to Deb.  
Yeah, I know about that. How he used to talk to her. Sometimes when he was losing himself, he would forget that I was following him in the woods and he’d visit the marker he decided was her impromptu grave. He usually wouldn’t say much—sometimes he’d just sit there and stare at it for a bit. When he did talk, I’d always get a little bout of pride when I listened to how much he talked about me. And then I’d get sad again, because I knew that if he really had been well and not ill, he wouldn’t have forgotten I was there—he used to notice everything.  
We usually wouldn’t fight about anything much. If it was a bad day, Nathan would get irritated by the smallest things. Sometimes I would hover too much, and he would snap at me. Mostly, though, the root of the problem was that he was mad I wasn’t there, or he was angry with himself because he felt he wasn’t figuring out his Gifts fast enough, and was worried he would hit me in his sleep again (it only happened once, but he tortured himself about it constantly). And despite whatever he thought, I felt like he was pushing himself too hard, and I thought he needed to go more slowly, and I knew he was going to hurt himself, which got us into a whole different argument.  
“I made more of the garden today.”  
“I told you, you don’t have to do that.”  
“I want to.”  
“And I’m happy you want to help. But you’ve helped enough, Nathan. You shouldn’t push yourself.”  
“I’m fine.”  
“Hm.”  
“I am!”  
At this point, I would usually give him a sidelong look. He would usually be scowling at me.  
“I don’t need your pity.”  
“This isn’t about pity.”  
“I haven’t had an anxiety attack in weeks!”  
He worried about his anxiety often. Anxiety about his anxiety, because the mind has a cruel sense of humor. Specifically, that my conception of him would change because he’d been having panic attacks. Nearly every fight we had he brought it up, and every fight I’d have to dismiss it.  
“It’s not about the anxiety!”  
“I just want to do something! You never want me to do anything!”  
“You’re going to hurt yourself if you do! Nathan, I know you! I know you won’t stop!”  
He scowled at me.  
“Have you hurt yourself, Nathan?”  
“I’m fine!”  
“Did you _hurt yourself_ , Nathan?”  
He pouted and sucked on his lower lip. “No.”  
I felt like he was lying, but I didn’t want to make either of us more upset.  
“Good.”  
We were silent.  
He added quietly, “I just want to do better.”  
“You’re doing enough.”  
“I hit you.” He looked so upset. “I hurt you.”  
“Shh, Nathan, love. That wasn’t your fault. Don’t take it out on yourself.”  
“You never think anything is my fault.”  
“Trust me, when I do, I’ll tell you.”  
“Oh, fuck off.” But he was smiling.  
“Wait, Nathan. Nathan, look at me. I want you to understand something. I know you feel bad about that —which was one time, and you were having a nightmare, and it was only just little, anyway—I know you feel bad, but pushing yourself until you get hurt isn’t going to help anything. I’ve already healed, my love. You don’t need to prove anything.”  
“It was twice actually.”  
“You mean that time in the apartment? That doesn’t count. You hardly knew me.”  
“I count it.”  
“Yes, you count it, because you feel the need to be masochistic every chance you get.”  
"I don't...know that word."  
"Self-punishing. In an extreme sort of way."  
“I beat you up! You were on the ground!”  
“Let me ask you something.”  
He scowled at me.  
“Do you love me?”  
He had the proper sense to look offended. “So do you just not pay any attention to what I tell you every morning, or—”  
“Okay. But did you love me then?”  
“No, but that’s irrelevant.”  
“It’s entirely relevant. Everything about it is relevant. You didn’t know me well and I purposefully mislead you after trying to win your trust for ages, it was the first time I saw your scars and you were clearly in a vulnerable position which, in hindsight, was probably not the best time to slam you with that information, so of course you were upset.”  
“Mph.”  
“Nathan, stop punishing yourself for things you’ve already been forgiven for.”  
“Well, you should…stop…” He sighed and rubbed his hands through his hair, roughly. It was a bad habit of his that frankly looked kind of painful, and he only did it when he was really upset. I noticed some of our plants were dying quietly in the corner.  
“Nathan, my love.”

That’s usually how our fights would go.

Potions. Fire. Time stopping. Then plants. Then animals.  
Then Nathan.  
Five more.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listened to "You Are the One" by SAFIA the entire time I wrote this, so it might be a little weird

“Do you want to go to the bookstore with me?”  
“Not really. You take hours in there. And there are always so many computers! What use is a computer in a bookstore?”  
“Do you want me to pick up anything for you then? For us to read?”  
“You’re the one who reads, Gabriel.”  
“You listen. Either way the story gets told. Which author is your favorite?”  
“I’ll listen to anything you read. Just pick something.”  
“I want to pick something you’ll like.”  
“I already like it. I like your voice.”  
“That’s not an answer.”  
“I can’t remember any of the authors.”  
“That’s also not one.”  
“Just…pick something with a happy ending.”  
“A happy ending?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The elk carried me away from the depths of the forest. It brought me to an old shack, half covered in vegetation, smelling of rot and looking it too.  
I gingerly pushed the door open, wary that it would fall if I shoved too hard. My fingertips took away a thick coating of dust and splinters. “Allo?” I called. « Il y a quelqu’un ici ? Is somebody here ? »  
The inside was completely empty except for a small table. On it were three pristine bottles, each corked and filled with a different colored liquid.  
One was light yellow, with tiny strands of what looked like spun gold revolving within it, glittering when they caught the light.  
One was a gooey and vile looking brown with just enough green in it to distinctly resemble swamp sludge.  
And the third was black, so dark it looked like there was nothing in the vial. Void. Like a black hole and just as terrifying.  
I picked up the golden one and was surprised at its weight. I tried to uncork it. It wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard I pulled. Still holding it, I tried picking up the brown one, but the bottle was stuck fast to the table.  
Curious, I set the first potion down. Bracing myself for resistance, I grabbed the second potion and lost my balance when it flew out of my hand. It clanked on the floor, the glass bottle unbroken.  
"Huh." I picked it up and threw it again, as hard as I could. The bottle didn’t break. I tried to pick up the gold one. Now, this one was stuck.  
I replaced the second and reached for the third, hesitating, because darkness had a pull that felt entirely unnatural to me. But to get here I’ve walked through nothing, flown through a hurricane, fought off lightning, and faced two ghosts and then myself, so I can deal with a little darkness.  
It was the lightest of all three. I shook it, but the darkness didn’t move within the bottle. I put it down quickly.  
If I couldn’t open them, what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t drink them.  
If I could pick them up, I could take them with me.  
But I could only take one.  
After potions there is fire, time stopping, plants, and animals.  
Maybe not in that order.  
The closest to him are the last I’ll fight.  
He loved playing with fire. But time stopping came out more the more he lost himself.  
Which will be first? Which should I try to prepare myself for?  
I didn’t even know what any of these did.  
I liked the golden one. Because everything here was backwards that probably meant I shouldn’t take it.  
But then that meant I should take the black one, even though I didn’t want to. Unless this Gift knew somehow that I was thinking of taking the black one, in which case it made the black one incorrect, so now I was choosing between the gold one and the brown one.  
The brown one was inconspicuous. And, honestly, kind of gross.  
I wasn’t going to spend all my remaining time here playing mind games with myself. I took the second bottle and returned to the elk.  
Except he wasn’t there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I felt like I was going insane.

I could see the shack being built as I could see it rotting away, falling apart, completely dilapidated until it was nothing but splinters and rubble. I could see the plants wither and grow at the same time. Great oaks were at once young saplings and ageless, towering giants. There was both a coursing river beneath my feet and solid ground.  
The sun rose and set at once. The shadows twisted manically and sporadically, sometimes leaning drastically to the left, to the right, or sometimes were entirely nonexistent, each with no warning.  
It was night at the same time that it was day.  
I could see the animals in the woods, dead as they were alive. I could see them running, jumping, foraging for food, and I could see their remains being picked apart by scavengers, and I could see their birth, and I could see their ancestors and their ancestors’ lives and deaths and births.  
Everything, all at once.  
My hands were tiny. They were a child’s hands. They’re my hands. They were hands that were covered in wrinkles and gnarled like bark with tattered nails and white hair and a tarnished gold ring glinting on one fourth finger.  
I was old, and I was young, and I was born. All at once.  
I remembered what I was clutching in my right hand. The potion inside it was the only thing that was stagnant.  
I tried the cork with my ever changing fingers, and it slipped out easily.  
I took a deep breath, and drank it.  
It tasted about how it looked. Swamp muck and shit.  
I gagged, but I forced myself not to vomit.  
I felt it settle in my stomach like a stone.  
And then,

I died.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What did you do this time?”  
“I don’t know!”  
“Obviously it was something wrong.”  
“I drank the potion. It was the wrong one.”  
“So you were finally met with potions?”  
“Yes. There were three. One was gold, one was brown slush, and one was empty black.”  
“Did you drink them all?”  
“No. I couldn’t. I could only take one, and I couldn’t get it open until I reached the next Gift.”  
“Which was?”  
“Time stopping. But in reverse. It was all of time at once.”  
“And you did what?”  
“I chose the brown potion because I didn’t know what would be next. And then when I found I could uncork the bottle, I drank it.”  
“No.”  
“What?”  
“Don’t drink it. Also try choosing a different bottle.”  
“Why?”  
“Well, if you’re really attached to the potion that has set you back, be my guest to try it again. But you don’t have much time left, and potions are my Gift, Gabriel.”  
“Right.”  
“I would suggest throwing it on the ground. If that doesn’t work, try rubbing it on yourself.”  
“Alright.”  
“And again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All the damn Gifts. I had to go through all of them again.  
So much wasted time.  
Invisibility.  
Weather.  
Lightning.  
I was terrified of what I would find in the jungle, but it was just a body. I didn’t think hard about whose. The animal wouldn’t let me. He swept me onto his back and didn’t linger.  
I pulled my jacket up over my mouth and nose as we sprinted through the poisonous vines, and twisted my fingers in his fur.  
I burst through the door. Now that I knew the indestructibility of what was inside I didn’t care if the whole house fell down.  
Maybe it was the black one.

“Don’t drink it.”  
Time went everywhere.  
I held the bottle away from myself. Kept my grip around it tight. I didn’t want to release it until I was ready.  
I watched my hands grow and shrink around the bottle. The blackness revealed nothing. The potion inside didn’t even look like a liquid.  
What was I about to unleash?  
I dropped it.

Time stopped.

Everything was still, except for me. I breathed a sigh of relief.  
It worked.  
I realized I had stopped time when I was in a body older than my own, hunched, with white hair.  
I tried to shift back to me, and found I couldn’t.  
Not again.  
I tried again, and I still couldn’t.  
Not again not again not again I did not lose my Gift again  
O mon dieu non  
I stared at my gnarled hands in panic. Oh my god. Oh my god. I can’t—I don’t have time for this.  
Time was stopped. Technically, I told myself, I had all the time I wanted to panic. But of course that wasn’t true. This was all an illusion. Time was still moving outside of this dream world, and Nathan was sinking ever further, and these challenges would only get harder.  
Deep breath.  
I could figure this out later.  
My Nathan.  
My soul mate.

But where was the next—

I thought it, and so it existed.  
Fire.  
Everywhere.

The ground, the trees, the plants, the shack. All burning. Smoke was everywhere. It stung my eyes and clawed at the back of my throat. Every inhale was painful and scalding, every exhale a cough. The heat was very nearly unbearable, and the area around me shimmered because of it when my eyes weren’t watering enough to make me blind.  
I ran back to the other potions as fast as I could. Combined with the smoke, the flames, and the bad knees I discovered when I tried to walk, my pace was a respectable shamble. I had to stop once because my pant leg caught on fire. When I extinguished it, it caught another flame and started smoking, but I was moving and determined. I would get to the potion soon enough. I couldn’t afford to stop.  
My shaking hands hovered over the two bottles left. The smoke was so thick in the room I could hardly see anything for the grey haze, except for the golden potion, sparking like sunlight.  
I could feel the fire crawling up my leg, starting to truly burn.  
I grabbed the golden bottle, and smashed it.

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was screaming in rage rather than pain when Van pulled the stake out this time.  
“Making progress, I see.”  
“Putain! Putain, _putain_! What the fuck!”  
“How did you die this time?”  
“I don’t know! I don’t fucking know!”  
“Gabriel, calm down.”  
“Ugh!” I pulled my hair with my free hand. “Ughhh…”  
“Which one was it?”  
“I got past Time Stopping by doing what you advised. That was the black potion. That worked. But then there was fire everywhere and I couldn’t see for all the smoke so I chose the gold potion. I assumed I should throw that one too. But it appears I’ve chosen incorrectly.”  
“Evidently, yes.”  
I looked across from me.  
Nathan looked even more frightening than before. His hand was cold in mine. His lips had a bluish pallor. As Van cleaned the stake I watched his chest intently, and only managed to breathe once I saw it rise slightly as he inhaled. I was running out of time.  
“Tips?”  
“Try the other one. And if the world is burning, I would advise attempting to protect yourself, first, instead of throwing away the only thing that could help you.”  
“No throwing. Alright.”  
“Fourth time’s the charm.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At least I came back my own age and not eighty. I could shift again, too.  
“Fuck this stupid invisibility”  
“Fuck the weather”  
“Fuck the lightning”  
Keep an eye on the animal.  
Don’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlook _don’tlookather_  
Don’t let go. DO NOT LET GO.  
The black one. Pick the black one.  
Wait. Waaaait. Wait until you’re your age. Roughly. Everything will be easier if you know your own body.  
Close enough.  
Fire. Run. Screw the pant leg.  
Smoke everywhere. Find the brown potion. Next to the gold.  
Uncork it. Don’t smash.  
Don’t drink it, either.  
So…  
Oh, I know what I have to do.  
Oh, dégueulasse. This is disgusting.

I had to wear it.  
Of course, it was swamp muck. I couldn’t wear the gold, sunshine-looking one. That would just be too nice.  
I poured out a handful and globbed it onto my burning pant leg. The fire went out immediately.  
Legs, arms, torso, head, covered. The bottle was small, but every time I went for more, it refilled itself.  
I’ll never get this out of my hair.  
I smelled like a marsh, but the potion was fire resistant. I didn’t burn. I wasn’t hot. Even my eyes and throat felt better.  
I placed the empty bottle back on the table, grabbed the last potion, and ran out the door. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be coming back.

The fire burnt off the muck, but never reached my skin. The air was warm around me, but not hot, as I ran through it. I ran far enough that the fire was just light on the horizon, but all the plants around me were burned out and blackened. A suffocating, acrid scent filled the air.  
Everything was destroyed. The trees were thin and charred, looking like sticks of Nathan’s charcoal. The ground was ragged. The sky was grey. It looked like one of Nathan’s sketches, but so much uglier.  
There is nothing poetic I can say about utter destruction.

The potion in my hand was the only color as far as I could see.  
Drink it or drop it?  
“If the world is burning, I would advise attempting to protect yourself, first.”  
The world has already burnt.  
I was protected.  
I looked at the bottle, and smashed it.

Everything grew.

Grass appeared. Hedges sprung upwards and outwards. Flowers bloomed and blossomed. Saplings unfurled their branches and rose into trees so immense their leaves blocked out the sky, which was changing as well as the smoke dissipated.  
Green replaced the black, and blue replaced the grey.  
A new forest replaced the burnt one, ever denser and more wondrous than before. The trees were so close together I hardly had room to put my feet, but their branches I could easily reach.  
I had a hunch.  
This, I knew how to do.

I started climbing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Test the handhold. Reach. Get a good grip. Brace. Test the toehold. Reach. Brace. And repeat.  
I climbed for an eternity. My arms and fingers ached. My muscled strained. Sweat fell into my eyes, which felt strained and painful. I was dehydrated and lightheaded and may very well have killed for a glass of water. My head felt too heavy to hold, as though it was made of rocks and my body composed of feathers.  
But I continued, until I reached the treetops.  
I looked out and noticed there was one tree, much taller than all the others, growing through the cloud cover until I couldn’t see when it ended. Very fairy-tale-esque.  
I tried to gauge the jump over from my tree to the others. It very little time to realize that by making the attempt I would succeed in nothing but dying again, so I descended once more, cursing all my wasted time and effort, and walked towards where I had seen the tree I needed.  
The forest was teeming with life. Flowers bloomed with a shower of gold, the grass twisted beneath my feet. Small animals ran to and fro in and between the trees. I’m sure there were larger once, too, but none of them bothered me. I couldn’t waste my energy being wary here.  
It wasn’t just any animal I had to fight next.

I climbed the tallest tree in the forest. I felt like I was going to die.  
After this, I’m never climbing again.

Once I got above the other trees, I had to take more and more breaks. I was getting short of breath. The height was dizzying, even for an experienced climber such as myself.  
Panting from exhaustion, I forced myself to go faster. Gone was my rhythm. I was going up and up, faster and faster. I needed to get to the top. It was so close. I was almost to him. I reached for the next handhold—  
And slipped.

A branch a few meters down broke my fall, as well as both my lower ribs.  
It knocked the wind out of me, and I gaped as my lungs spasmed, my hair tangled about my face. I clutched it until I could breathe again, and sighed in relief as I felt my ribs heal.  
I started up again, slower. Even though I could hardly stand the pace I went at, I forced myself to be methodical, careful. I would waste even more time if I tried to hurry and slipped and died again.  
I took breaks often, because the muscles in my arms and legs started giving out. I had to remind myself every time I stopped not to look down.  
Finally, I could see the end.  
At the top of the tree the branches fanned out so thickly they made a sort of platform. The area was enshrouded in icy mist, and I felt frozen. I heaved myself up with absolutely no grace and rolled onto the platform, panting. I wanted to stay lying down longer, but I wanted to reach my Nathan more.  
I saw him. He was sitting cross legged near the edge of the platform, overlooking the white and blue of the landscape.  
His back was to me, but his guard was facing me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course it was the animal.  
He growled as I approached, and stopped when I stopped, never looking away from me.  
Nathan did not move, but I could tell he knew something had changed.  
I called his name.  
He didn’t turn, but he did reply. “You shouldn’t be here.”  
“I’m taking you back.”  
The wolf stared at me with shadowed eyes. Nathan shook his head sadly.  
“I’m taking you back. Now.”  
“I can’t go back.”  
“Yes, you can. You have to.”  
He was silent for a long while.  
“You have to come back. You’re dying.”  
“No. I…They’ll never come back. I can't. I don't...They’re already dead.”  
“Who are you talking about, Nathan?”  
“So many people.”  
“But you’re still alive. That’s what matters.”  
“I killed them, Gabriel.”

“I killed them all.”

“It was self defense.”  
He shook his head again. “You should leave.”  
“I’m not leaving without you.”  
“I can’t.”  
“Yes, you can.”  
“I…I can’t. I just…can’t.”  
“I’ll be with you.”  
“I don’t want you to see it.”  
“No matter what I see, Nathan, I will follow you everywhere.”  
He made no sound except that of his breathing.  
“I love you. With everything I have. Nothing will change that.”

The wolf slowly curled his lip, baring his fangs in a soundless snarl.  
“They’re waiting for me,” he murmured.  
“So let’s not make them wait any longer.”  
He was shaking his head before my sentence even stopped.  
I took a deep breath. “Nathan, look at me. Turn and look at me. You’re killing me. Living with you, watching you die in front of me, is destroying me. If you don’t leave here, I won’t either.”  
His shoulders hunched, but he didn’t turn. “You’ll die here.”  
“I’d rather die with you than alone.”  
“No. No, you have to leave.”  
“Not without you.”  
The wolf began to growl softly.  
“Please, go, Gabriel.”  
“Not without you.”  
“Please…”  
“Not. Without. You.”  
I stepped towards him. The wolf opened his mouth to bite, but Nathan spun around to grab him. With him in motion, the wolf stilled once more.  
He rose to stand, and glanced at me with reddened eyes and a pale face. Quickly, he shut his eyes and turned his head down, as though looking at me burned. He looked like he was in pain.  
I held his hand and intertwined our fingers. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t look at me.  
“I can’t…”  
“You can.”  
He shook his head and opened his mouth, trying to protest further, but the words were too heavy for him to get out. With his free hand he motioned to where he had been sitting.  
I walked closer to see what it was he had been staring at.

It was death.

Enshrouded in the fog were bodies piled into mountains. Tinted blue lips and monstrously white skin, sickly purple where the blood had pooled and coagulated. Glassy eyes wide open. The mist iced their hair, brows and lashes. So many limbs, they twisted together and created something entirely inhuman and entirely, terrifyingly sad.  
“Look,” he whispered. “Look at what I have done.”  
  
I held his hand to my chest and didn’t know what to say, except, “It wasn’t you.”  
He just continued shaking his head.  
“Will you come with me, Nathan?”  
He stopped, but that didn’t stop the rest of him from trembling.

“Or will we join them?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	7. Chapter 7

We walked hand in hand to the land of death.  
The wolf followed behind us.  
The branches of the tree were spread like veins and gave us a gentle slope to descend into the hell that Nathan’s mind had created for himself.  
With every step we took, he gripped my hand tighter.  
His lips were a tight white line. He trained his eyes forward, and let nothing move his gaze. He was so tense.  
The mist curled around our legs and feet.  
We passed the first of the bodies. Their doll-like eyes stared at us as we walked and gave me chills.  
It was a particular type of frightening they carried. It wasn’t terror, like you’d think. More like a quiet horror at the unfairness of it all.  
The body was there, but there was nothing inside. Just...nothingness.  
The sadness that surrounded them was suffocating.  
I wanted to run, but Nathan wanted to more. I had to keep going or neither of us would.  
“Half-Code.”  
Nathan froze. He clutched my hand so hard I could feel my bones shifting.  
A little to our left, one of the bodies was standing.  
She was tall and slender, but muscular, with long blonde hair nearly as light as the pallor of her skin. In life, she must have been pretty.  
Now, her head rested on her shoulder at an awkward angle, her snapped neck unable to support its weight.  
It took me a moment to recognize her, even though Nathan knew her immediately. Everything had been such a blur that night.  
She was the Hunter from the night we stole the Fairborn. The first person Nathan ever killed.  
“You.”  
Nathan stared at her, wide eyed and not breathing.  
The wolf whimpered behind us.  
I shifted my weight, stepping to put Nathan behind me, me between her and him. She didn’t move.  
I tried to speak to him in a low, reassuring voice. “Nathan, come on. Come on, she won’t move.”  
I tugged at his hand, but he stood frozen.  
“I’ve got you. We have to go, love.”  
With me leading him he only took the tiniest of steps, still staring at her. All the muscles in his jaw were clenched. He didn’t blink. Coaxing him the whole time, he took another step, and another, until we were ever so slowly moving past her. She didn’t take her eyes off Nathan.  
After an eternity of starting and stopping, shuffling slowly on, the mist swallowed her up, and I took a breath of relief. The wolf’s hackles were still raised, and Nathan’s jaw was clenched so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if he cracked some of his own teeth. His hand was still crushing my own.  
I heard someone giggle to our right, and looked.  
Oh, merde.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The only color on her were the dark purple stains that marked her silvery dress, one on her abdomen and one on her chest.  
“Rose,” I whispered.  
Nathan made a pained and strangled sound beside me. The wolf bared his teeth and shrank back.  
She giggled. I wish she had just spoken instead.  
It would have been less unsettling.  
I dragged him away from her as quickly as I could, never letting her leave my sight.  
Nathan’s free hand was balled into a fist. He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead and dug his nails into his scalp. His eyes were screwed shut, and I saw his lips moving silently.  
“Nathan. Nathan. We have to go.” My voice was tense and strained.  
He gave a single nod. Every step he took was painfully robotic, but at least we were moving.  
The apparition that was not Rose stared back, a predatory smile on her bloodless lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A breeze blew through the mountains of dead, and brought with it whispers.  
“Your fault…”  
It was a woman’s voice.  
“It’s your fault she’s dead…”  
Nathan was shaking his head, using his free hand to cover one ear. The wolf was pawing at both.  
“Who…?” I asked the wind, before realizing. The only person it could have been was Jessica.  
Nathan let go of my hand to clutch his other ear. He hunched over and stumbled away from me, but I walked with him, holding his elbow. He was humming a low noise, similar to the sound the wolf was also making.  
I looked up, and saw her.  
She had been stunning in life—I could see that even through the state she was in. Her hair, though short, glinted even without the sun. High cheekbones, long eyelashes, and lovely full lips.  
It was in these features I saw Nathan’s face reflected.  
So many people say he looks exactly like Marcus. Maybe it’s because Marcus was more well-known—maybe it’s because hardly anyone knew him at all. But Nathan is neither one, nor the other. In his face, I can also see his mother’s.  
Cora.

I don’t know how little Nathan was when Cora died—seven? Eight?  
He’s grown so much since then, but under her gaze, he shrank.  
He withered in front of her.  
“Your fault,” the wind whispered.  
Her dark blue eyes bored into his face.  
He tore at his hair. His breathing was jolting and unsteady. Trembling uncontrollably, bowing his head and dragging his nails down his cheeks, he left inflamed little white lines behind before bringing them back up.  
“My fault,” he agreed.  
“No,” I told him. “No no nonono. Nathan, no. Look at me.”  
He shook his head violently.  
“Nathan, don’t listen. Look at me.” I pulled him into me. One arm tight around his shoulders and the other hand lightly around his face, pressing him into my chest and covering his eyes so he couldn’t see her.  
The wolf was still inconsolable, making that awful noise. He slunk behind me as we shuffled away, his ears close to his head, hoping, I think, that I could offer him protection.  
Cora stared at me. I stared back. The sadness she emanated was overwhelming, and I never even knew her. For Nathan it must have been so much worse.  
I helped him past her. She was nothing but a sad specter Nathan’s suffering mind had created to punish himself. I was not going to let her take him.  
I took a step, and there was Marcus.  
His black eyes open wide enough to see the whites around his irises, his hair standing on end as mist twisted through it. Blood dripped out the corner of one mouth.  
And his chest. Ripped open.  
I could see his ribs, his lungs, even his spine. But not his heart.  
There was no heart.

He was monstrous.

Nathan could tell someone else was there, and tried to remove my hand. I held him tighter and didn’t let him go.  
“Not now. Don’t look now.”  
Marcus stared us down with crazed eyes.  
Nathan struggled out of my hold.  
When Marcus spoke, little bubbles of blood formed at the corners of his mouth. “I love you, Nathan.”  
Nathan froze up, still holding one of my arms in both of his hands. He stared from one of his parents to the other, seeing them together for the first time.  
The sadness she embodied.  
The violence he became.  
Oh, if only they were still alive.  
“It’s not real, Nathan. Nathan, say it.”  
“It’s not real,” he mumbled blankly, still staring at them.

“I love you, son.”

His steps were halting.  
One—one-two—  
And then he was off.  
Nathan sprinted away, and it took everything I had to keep up with him.  
He tore a path through the bodies haphazardly, frantically. The wolf was on his heels, me following some meters behind.  
Some of them reached out to him from where they were lying. He tripped a few times, but each time he fell, he got up and continued running before I even reached him. Their fingers snagged on his shirt and pants and tore them as he flew past.  
We only saw two more people after that, directly in our way. Nathan stopped short.  
I couldn’t recognize one. He was a man, young, and would have been handsome. But the woman looked much too much like Cora for me to not recognize.  
“Deb,” Nathan panted.  
She and the man close to her said nothing, but stared.  
They were covered in wounds.  
Bloodless skin split, skulls dented, eyes blackened, bones broken.  
“Oh, Deb, David.”  
Nathan reached out to them.  
I watched, paralyzed for a moment. I know how much Deb means to my love.  
But I didn’t want him to touch them. I didn’t know what would happen if he did. My mind wandered back to the ominous vines of his healing Gift, and I reached and grabbed him and did not let him go.  
He struggled in my grasp.  
I pinned his arms to his torso.  
He threw his weight backwards, and we toppled to the ground.  
Rotting fingers pulled at our clothes. I shrugged myself away from them, gagging as I saw one’s nails tear off, still attached to my jacket.  
Nathan ran to his sister and David again. I threw myself at his legs and rolled on top of him.  
“Let me go,” he breathed, furious.  
“I can’t.”  
“Let me go.”  
“No.”  
He growled in exasperation. “Gabriel.”  
I had an idea, and I knew it would work. “Hurt me,” I told him.  
He glared at me, incredulous.  
“That’s the only way I’m letting you go, is if you hurt me. Hurt me so badly I can’t come after you.”  
“Stop exaggerating.”  
“Break my arms.”  
“Stop.”  
“Break my legs.”  
“Gabriel, stop.”  
“I’ll crawl if I have to. Break my skull, knock me out, that’s the only way.”  
His scowl could melt metal, and I could see I was making him more than just angry, but really upset. “Stop it. Stop, Gabriel. I said stop.”  
“You’ll have to beat me until I can’t move. Until I’m almost dead. That’s the only way I’ll let you go.”  
“I said _stop_!”  
“It’s the only way.”  
“I can’t do that.”  
I nodded, because I knew.  
I got up, but kept a hold on him.  
With my arms around him—a prison or an embrace, either one—he stood beside me.  
The expression on his face broke my heart.  
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to them. His voice cracked with the sob he was holding in.  
The sound made me die a little.  
Their faces didn’t change. The mist continued swirling around them.  
“It wasn’t you,” I told him. “She loved you. It wasn’t your fault.”  
He sighed, still looking towards her.  
“You’re still alive, Nathan. You don’t belong here with the dead.” But he didn’t move.  
“Nathan, Deb died believing in something.  
“She believed in peace.  
“Your safety proves that peace is possible. Do you respect her at all?”  
“Yes,” he replied hoarsely.  
“Then you have to come with me. You have to live, Nathan.”  
He hesitated, still looking at her. What was left of her. What his mind had created of her. And then he gave me his hand.  
And, with the wolf crouching at our heels, I lead him out.  
He kept his eyes trained on her figure until the mist swallowed her completely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The mist and the wolf were still with us.  
I wanted to ask him if he was alright, but I knew what the answer would be, and I knew I wouldn’t like it. I kissed his hand instead.  
“Gabriel, I…” he started, quietly. I stopped and watched him.  
“I…” He looked past me, and his expression changed.  
I turned, and there she was.  
Beautiful, as always.  
He didn’t mean to kill her.  
Nathan never had a taste for violence even though so many people said it ran in his veins. For the few days following Marcus’ death, all he could think about was vengeance. But she stayed away, and his hatred cooled to grief and mourning and sadness.  
He blamed himself more for Marcus’ death than Annalise, although I knew that wasn’t true, either. That was just another way of protecting his façade of Annalise from the real one.  
When she shot him, she killed two people. She killed Marcus, and she killed the person Nathan thought she was.  
I hoped she never returned. Because if she did, I had a plan.  
I planned to spirit her away, before Nathan saw her.  
I planned to kill her.  
I didn’t have to.

Nathan doesn’t talk about it. Never to me.  
Maybe to Deb. When he does, if he does, I’m sure he distances himself from it.  
It’s something like selective memory. His mind wouldn’t let the rest of him know who it was he killed. But, of course, he knew.  
I could hear it in the way he screamed at night.  
I could feel it in the way he would shrug me off in the mornings, retreating into the woods, far away from me.  
I could see it in the way he couldn’t resist making fire, but only picked the coolest, darkest flames. He never made anything larger than a marble.  
I could taste it in the tears and guilt on his face.  
Deep inside, he knew.

‘ “We need to go.” ’  
This time, we couldn’t.  
Not until he faced what he’d done.

She was in flames. But this time, they weren’t destroying her.  
They became a part of her, so brilliant and horrible.  
Beautiful as ever. More so, even, because she shown through Nathan’s eyes. She looked like an angry goddess of war and fire, full of majesty and burning cold rage.  
She was here, she was alive, and she had a gun.  
“Annalise, no.”  
She pointed it at me.  
If this was all an illusion, I suppose this was Nathan’s mind trying to comprehend the devolution of Annalise. Her fall from grace. A representation of how far she had descended away from the perfection he thought her to be. Of what he had done to her. Of what he had, in a split second, chosen.  
It was the same situation once more, but with more time to think. More time to stop, to rethink, realize and overanalyze.  
Would he choose me again?  
More than that, will he choose himself?  
If I die in this, I’ll be sent back to the start. I know that Nathan doesn’t have enough time left to wait for me to get through everything again. And even if I did, everything would just lead to this choice again.  
If he chooses her, we’ll both be stuck in this cycle until we die. Because even if he chooses her, I’m still coming back.  
I did it in the bunker. I can do it here, if I must.  
Even if he still loves her, I can’t stop loving him.

Will the perfect girl still steal him from me, even after she’s gone?  
I stared down the barrel of the gun, and left the choice up to Nathan.  
I could smell the smoke in the air.  
I felt the heat on my skin.  
Fitting, that if he chooses her in this illusion I’ll die. Because when he chose her in reality, it felt about the same.  
He’s said he loves me.  
But that was before he lost himself.  
Now that he was finding himself again, who did he want to find by his side?

“Annalise, no.”

“Don’t—don’t make me do this.”

“Don’t make me choose again.”

Her eyes did not leave my face and her expression didn’t change. The flames danced and roared around her.

CLICK-CLICK.

I felt a rough hand grab my shoulder and throw me backwards.  
I heard roar and a gunshot as I fell.  
My heart pounding, I steadied myself enough to see Nathan standing.  
Annalise, lying on the ground. Her fire extinguished.  
And the wolf, bleeding.  
Nathan turned back to me, breathing heavily. He met my eyes.  
Then he turned to the wolf.  
Shot in the stomach before he tore out her throat, the wolf was still alive, but barely.  
Annalise was not.  
When I saw her, I smiled.  
Am I horrible?  
She was dead, and I was elated.  
Nathan made a choice, and picked me.

He was holding a knife, but it wasn’t the Fairborn.  
In his hands was the first gift I gave him.  
The wolf was panting, his eyes bulging and his mouth rimmed with red foam. He could not get up from the position he was lying in.  
Nathan stroked the fur on his head, touched the soft skin on his ears. He gently closed the wolf’s eyes. And then he brought the knife to his chest, and cut.

Nathan ate the wolf’s heart.

Covered in blood, he stood and walked to me. He tore off a piece of his shirt, cleaner than the rest, and wiped the blood away from his mouth, chin, and cheeks as best as he could. When he reached me, I did the same with my jacket sleeve. He looked tired and haggard, but more himself than I’ve seen in ages.  
This will bring him back, but it won’t make everything go away. That’s not the sort of magic either of us can do.  
He’ll still have nightmares. He’ll still have panic attacks. He’ll still worry, he’ll still feel guilty, and he’ll still struggle with himself. He’ll still have days where he hides in the woods and days where he doesn’t leave the bed and days where he can’t talk to me. Now, though, we might be able to start making things better.

“Are you ready?”  
“Yes.”

My love can’t heal him, but maybe it can help him. Maybe it can help him forgive himself. Maybe it can help him love himself.

I kissed him, and we woke up.


	8. Chapter 8

An intense pain in my right hand woke me up. I felt like I had been asleep for a long time.  
I blinked, and there was Gabriel. Sitting in front of me, staring at me with that thing like amazement on his face again.  
For a few beats, everything seemed very still.  
“…Um?” I asked eloquently.  
“Your way with words is the same as ever,” a familiar voice commented behind me. I turned, and there was Van, cleaning the stake that was just drawn through our hands.  
“Why are you here?”  
“Gabriel called me.”  
I turned back to him. “Why is she here?”  
“Because of you.” He still looked a bit stunned.  
This was all very exasperating.  
“I don’t understand.”  
“That may be a bit hard at first,” Van replied. “I suggest you wait a while. I’m sure what doesn’t come back, Gabriel will be happy to explain. In the meantime I suggest you boys get yourselves cleaned off.”  
My hand had already healed. Gabriel’s hadn’t, but he didn’t look like he was paying it much mind. I had this inexplicable urge to touch it when I saw the wound. I grabbed his hand in both of mine before I could think. I felt my palms heat up a bit, a different warmth from when I make flames, gentler. And then I watched in astonishment as the muscle and skin knit themselves back together.  
I couldn’t do that before.  
“Nathan.”  
I didn’t have much time to think about my new abilities, because Gabriel’s arms were around me immediately. Mystified and dazed, I was unprepared, and the weight of him sent us both to the ground. He didn’t seem to mind.  
I was frustrated and unnerved, with a feeling in my gut telling me that something big just happened and I missed it all. But Gabriel was hugging me so tightly I couldn’t get words out, so I figured, for a little while at least, I could wait. For him.  
I resigned myself to my confusion and enjoyed the warmth of him. He didn’t let me go for ages.

He never left my side. That entire day he was always near me, and almost always touching. We sat in the clearing for the longest time, and all he did was hold me, stroking my hair. He buried his head in my shoulder, and asked me to speak.  
“What should I say?”  
“Anything.”  
I had a lot of questions, but this wasn’t the time to ask them.  
“I love you.”

When I took a shower, he sat outside the door and waited. I did the same for him. I was famished, but I could wait for Gabriel. He loves showers, but that was the quickest he’s ever taken.  
He kissed me with his hair dripping, leaving wet streaks on the shoulders of my shirt. He was smiling too big for it to be a proper kiss, but that just made it better.  
After he dressed, he held my hand everywhere.  
I liked the attention—I loved the attention—but it made me nervous, too. It made me anxious.  
“I love you.”  
Deb. It’s just. I love the words he says, but I hate the way he says them.  
There’s this undercurrent of desperation in the way he says it. Of distress. As though this might be the last time, and he has to pack everything he feels into a little three word sentence.  
It was bothering me so much, I finally had to bring it up.“You’re upset.”  
He pursed his lips and played with his hair. “You were sick.” And that’s all he could say.  
My stomach hurts, holding in these questions. I’ve never been good at waiting.  
But he can’t talk about it, so for now I’ll just talk to you.

What happened?  
All my memories feel blurry, going back for a very long time.  
I remember bits and pieces.  
I remember feeling powerful. Creating howling storms, felling and raising eons-old trees. Raging with lightning and burning with fire.  
I remember feeling fear.  
I remember Gabriel hunched over the kitchen table, his head in his hands, his breathing unsteady.  
I remember Marcus. I remember Cora. I remember you.  
I remember her.  
God, I remember her.

It all feels so distant and so hazy.  
I’m afraid to ask what I missed. It feels like something large in the silence around it.

Van left. She told Gabriel she would be back in a few days.  
There wasn’t much food in the house, but we scrounged up whatever was left, and whatever was fastest to make.  
I wolfed my meal down, starving. I ate so fast I hardly tasted it.  
Gabriel forced me to slow down, to eat at the same pace he was. I don’t know how long we’d been bound together, but it was long enough for our stomachs to shrink. Still, we both finished fast. I threw my napkin down on the plate and led him outside. Van left a bowl of night smoke in the cottage, but I didn’t want to be inside. I had this odd sensation, like the cage again. I felt like I’d been trapped. I didn’t want to stay within walls.  
I stopped walking once we got to the canopy I made for his birthday, and we climbed to the center of it. The sun was setting and it was getting cold fast, so I made fire balls of different colors swirl and bob slowly around us. It was easier than before—I barely had to think, and they were there, with a soft glow and gentle warmth.  
I hesitated, but had to ask. “…What happened?”  
He shook his head. “You…” He took a breath, then stopped. Then he took another, and stopped again. The firelight caught on the lines of his face and made him look older and tired.  
Usually I’m the one searching for words. That was enough to give me a clue how hard this was for him.  
“Come here,” I said to him, and pulled his head to my chest. I stroked his hair and his back, and he wrapped his arms around me.  
He started from the beginning.  
When he tried to tell me what I’d been like, his voice broke and he couldn’t continue. I made him talk about the other parts instead.  
He told me everything he went through to help me. He moved so he could see my face, and he told me about Van’s potion and the Gifts he had to battle to get to me. I’m sure he sugar coated them for my benefit, which makes it worse, because all his trials already sounded horrible. I was glad when he had to stop talking about it—I didn’t want to know.  
I tried to apologize, but he wouldn’t let me.  
“It’s not your fault,” he interrupted. “It’s not your fault at all. I’m just so happy you’re back.”  
I bit my tongue, troubled.  
“Van told me this shouldn’t happen again,” he explained, guessing what it was that bothered me. “It was because all your Gifts were trying to get out at once. Now that they’ve all been revealed and beaten, they shouldn’t take you over like that. It’ll be easier now.”  
I nodded, but not all my worries were put to rest. I tried to look reassured for Gabriel. He doesn’t need to worry anymore. He’s done so much for me, Deb, now and in the past.  
I can’t even begin to comprehend how much he’s suffered because of me.  
He never deserved any of this.

You know, Deb, sometimes—a lot, actually—I wish he never met me. Can you understand that?  
He deserves so much that I can never give him. All he’s gotten here is pain.  
It has a way of following me, like he does.  
I feel like it’s never going to stop. Every time I beat something, there’s something else waiting to happen.  
Ellen told me a quote she read once, on one of my bad (but not too bad) days. “Everything is temporary.” When she told me it, I told her it was a very Ellen thing to say.  
There are some good days. But there are also some bad ones, and some terrible ones. I didn’t used to have the good days, so it’s better than before, but everything still hurts. It’s still there, and it makes everything good a little sour.  
How can this sort of hurt be temporary? This sort of guilt and shame and pain that I feel like I’ve felt forever?  
I know what I’ve done, despite not wanting to. But I need to know what I’m doing next.  
Gabriel’s made my life so much better, but all I can think is that I’ve made his so much worse. But he won’t leave. So all I can do is try to apologize, for everything. For everything he’s sacrificed because of me.

I wove my fingers in his hair and kissed him with as much love and tenderness as I could, knowing it still wouldn’t be enough to show him how important he was.  
His hands glided across my back, my chest, my neck. He held me tightly. The fear of everything past still hadn’t left him. “I love you so much. I was afraid…I thought I’d never get you back.”  
I held him back, and I kissed him back, and I said “I love you” back to him. It was the only thing I could give him.  
We kissed and touched, and flowers bloomed and fire glowed softly until the moon hung high in the sky. Gabriel made it very apparent how happy he was to have me back again.  
Late into the night—or early in the morning—I played with his hair as I felt his breathing slow on my neck. I wrapped and unwrapped the wispy little locks near his ear around one of my fingers and smoothed the tendrils back as they glinted in the firelight.  
Van. Even though he’s left out bits of his story, I know she doesn’t work for free.  
Gabriel, who has fought so much for me.  
What sort of a deal has he made?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We both slept through the night.  
It felt like a miracle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up while he was still asleep. The sun was high in the sky—it had to be nearly noon. We were both exhausted.  
I stayed there for a long while, reluctant to get up. I listened to the breeze and the animals in the forest and Gabriel’s breathing. Every bit of me felt sore.  
I tried to extract my arm from under his head, which proved to be a very difficult task. I was trying not to wake him up, but every time I moved my elbow pins and needles shot up my arm. So, of course, he did wake up. He made a disgruntled sound and buried his face in the crook of my neck.  
“Wait, Gabriel, move.”  
“No.”  
“I can’t feel my arm.”  
He snuggled closer. “I really don’t care.”  
“It’s going to fall off. I’ll be disfigured forever.”  
He laughed, but rolled off me, sitting up. He was smiling while he watched me.  
“I love you.”  
He’s been saying that a lot, Deb. Every chance he gets.  
Because we had exactly one spoiled yogurt in the ice box, Gabriel wanted to buy some food. He seemed nervous about leaving me alone, but he didn’t want me to get sick from electricity again, especially because of what I’d just gone through—which I still don’t fully understand, he doesn’t like to talk about it and I don’t want to force him. I get the gist; I remember falling. I just don’t remember actually hitting the ground.  
I wanted to be with him, so I went. He tried to argue, but his excuses were weak and we both knew it. He was more anxious leaving me alone than having me with him.  
I had an alarming thought, just before we entered the cut.  
“Does Arran know?”  
“That you’re well?”  
“Yeah.”  
“No, I was going to tell him now. I keep a cell phone on the other side.”  
“I want to talk to him.”  
Gabriel looked at me sideways. “Phones run on electricity.”  
“It’ll only be a few minutes.”  
“Hm.” He pulled at a thread on his sweater. “Alright, but I’m dialing. Once he picks up I’ll give him to you. That’ll give you a few extra seconds. And if you start to feel nauseous, you need to give it back.”  
“Alright.”

It was strange, hearing his voice through the phone. It was tinny and small. Not like in real life.  
“Gabriel? Hello?”  
“Arran.”  
“Nathan?”  
“Yeah.”  
I heard him take a deep breath. “…Nathan?” he repeated, a little softer, a little more unsteady.  
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m alright.”  
“Oh my god.” Another breath. “Oh my god. Nathan. Wha—When did you—?”  
“Just yesterday.”  
The buzzing was low in my ears, but only escalating very slowly. I could still hear him.  
“I’m coming over.”  
I nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see me. “Alright.”  
Another day I might have argued. I had this strange apprehension low in my stomach, telling me I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to see what this had done to him. I didn’t want to see how worried he was because of me. But I really needed to see him, and he really needed to see me, and that was more important. Even if my stomach was in knots.  
“I’ll be there in three hours, no, two. Three at most. Sooner if I can.”  
“If you tell me where you are exactly, I could make a cut.” Gabriel’s head jerked up at that. He opened his mouth right as I heard “No!” shout out from the phone.  
“Nathan, you just got well. Medicine doesn’t work like that. Even this sort of medicine.”  
“Hn.” I made a face, thinking about when Gabriel got his Gift back, and how he was fine right after. Aran couldn’t see it, obviously, but Gabriel could, and shot me a similar look back.  
“Even if you can do everything, for now you should go easy. Just for a day or two. Just to make sure. Okay?”  
“Okay,” I muttered.  
“I mean it.”  
“Al _right_.”  
“Two hours.”  
“Yeah.”  
“I love you.”  
“I love you, too.”  
I returned the phone to Gabriel. I only had a minor headache brewing. Already better than before—I would have been completely done for the day, darkened cottage, cold compress, the works.  
“You know I wouldn’t have let you make a new cut.”  
“I healed your hand yesterday.”  
“I was a little preoccupied yesterday.”  
“You’re letting me go out with you now.”  
“Because I don’t want you alone. And you gave me no choice. And I like that you’re with me. But that’s enough for one day.”  
“I don’t need to be coddled.”  
“Nathan, you’ve never been coddled once in your entire life. Give yourself a day off. I promise I’ll make life for you extra difficult for you tomorrow.”  
I grunted at him. He put the phone back to the hiding spot out of which he’d taken it.  
“Two hours, he said?”  
“Yeah.”  
He slung his arm around my shoulder and walked with me out of the woods, whistling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Breakfast—or lunch, I guess—was a loud affair. He was clanging pots and singing, throwing food into pans and trash into the waste bin from across the kitchen. He missed, often.  
I’ve honestly never seen him this happy, Deb. Well, maybe when I told him I loved him for the first time. But that was a different kind of happiness.  
“Joy” would be a good word to describe it. And silliness. Or maybe it’s just hysteria, a sort of unbelieving euphoria after so many struggles.  
I thought we were all too serious for silliness, so caught up in grief and tragedy and heartbreak. Until I saw Gabriel parade around the kitchen, wearing a small pot as a hat and humming to the beat he was making by smacking the cupboards with spoons. He kissed me whenever he walked past me, or whenever I laughed—which was often. I only made him stop when he tried to put the pot on my head.  
I got down to help him, because the coffee was ready and the eggs were bubbling and the meat was sizzling. He came up behind me after I slid off the counter and wrapped his arms around my chest, still holding a spoon in one hand. He kissed the side of my face.  
“Je t’adore.”  
“Hm, yeah, you too. The toast is burning.”  
He smiled and kissed me again before turning to get it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arran showed up about a half hour later.  
My stomach hurt the whole time beforehand. I was very hungry, and everything Gabriel made was delicious, but I also felt a weird sort of nauseous. I really wanted to see him, but I dreaded seeing him.  
What if he looked like his voice had sounded?  
He sounded like he was going to cry. He can’t cry.  
He didn’t cry.

I was watching out the window the entire time we were eating, so when I saw his silhouette appear in the woods I opened the door and went to him. He held me tightly.  
“Shit, Nathan.”  
I hugged him tightly because I didn’t want to have to see his face. He smelled like the tea he makes all time and the antiseptic smell of the hospital, and that sharp worry smell that’s been hanging around much too much.  
He pulled away and smiled down at me. “So you’re back with us, then.”  
“I didn’t know I’d left.”  
His eye unfocused as he remembered, and he said, “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”  
I searched his face. He had bags under bloodshot eyes.  
“Alright?’  
He smiled and mussed my hair. I swatted his hand away, glaring at it.  
“Yeah, now. But I think the more important question is if you are.”

Am I alright, Deb?

Now that I don’t have to live in the present to survive, I’ve been thinking about the past. Obsessing over it. Listing everything bad. Which, I’ve discovered, I can’t do.  
All the people I’ve killed.  
All the things that have been done to me.  
Everyone I can’t help but hurt.  
I have to keep all of those thoughts away from me. Even though I keep hurting the only two people I have left. Two and a half, maybe, if I count Ellen. But she’s not nearly as much to me as Gabriel or Arran.  
I keep thinking about the way Gabriel clutched me to him after we woke up. Of his desperate “I love you”s. Of the sound of them. Of the tang of anxiety in the air, still there.  
Why is love so painful?  
It’s such a heavy thing to carry, but I know being alone is worse.  
I wish there was a different option, besides someone hurting.

My stomach hurts.  
My head hurts.  
My heart hurts.

Everything hurts.

“I’m fine.”

“…No, Nathan, I don’t think you are.”

I wasn’t about to lie to him twice.

“Here. Come on. Let’s go somewhere.”  
I glanced over my shoulder, and Gabriel was standing in the doorway, watching us. He noded to me and turned inside. He knew now wasn’t the time for him to be here.  
I nodded, taking Arran by the arm and leading him around the forest. Nowhere in particular, just walking. I needed to sort my thoughts out to talk about this.  
Arran was quiet next to me.  
After about twenty minutes, I picked a spot and sit down. I made little fireballs so we wouldn’t get cold and watched them dance in the breeze, stroking them with my fingertips. Arran watched.  
“I just…”  
I didn’t know what I was about to say.  
“I’m not used to this.”  
“Used to what?”  
“Having people. To talk to. About this.”  
He looked a little stung.  
“That I can reach,” I clarified.  
He nodded, and waited.  
The longer his silence was, the freer I felt to talk.  
“I don’t like worrying. I don’t like being afraid.”  
And it was that which opened the floodgates.  
“But now it’s all I do. It’s all I am. And now I feel Gabriel doing the same. I can hear it in the way he talks to me, in the way he treats me, like I’m going to break any minute. And I hate it because I feel like now I can’t talk to him like I could because I’m constantly afraid of hurting him, or making him worry, and I need to protect him but I need to know what the hell is going to happen and I can’t keep hurting him. And you, too. I was so anxious before you came today because I didn’t know what to expect and I didn’t know if it would be horrible and I wouldn’t have been able to handle it if it was horrible. And I hate that you’re worried and it’s my fault, but I’m glad that you’re worried because it means you care, and I wish none of this ever happened but it did, and I couldn’t control it and I feel like I have to act like everything’s fine even though it’s not and it’s so obvious, and people have died, and I used to love one of them and she was so _good_ even if it wasn’t the kind of good I thought it was, and I killed her, and I feel like I can’t talk to anybody about it and I hate it but she’s dead, and our mom is dead and Marcus is dead and I’ve lost so many people and I want all the hurt to stop and I just…I…I’m just tired.

“I’m so _tired_.”

I felt miserable. I must have looked it, too, because Arran pulled me into a hug, even though he looked unhappy himself.  
He rubbed my back and I felt like a little kid again, turning to my big brother for help.  
“I miss her so much.” I didn’t need to explain who.  
I could feel him nod. “I know. I know. I miss her too. I miss her so much too.”

“But…I still have you.”

I felt compelled to say something contrary, but he kept talking.  
  
“You can tell me anything.” He pulled away to look at me and took a deep breath. “Gabriel is, ah…intense. I know. And he’s good for you—I know that too. But if there’s ever anything you don’t think that you can talk to him about, if you want to talk to someone, you can talk to me. I know you want to spare my feelings, but Nathan, I’m not a child. You don’t have to protect me. I’m your older brother. I know your life has been extraordinarily difficult and what you’ve gone through I don’t ever want to imagine. But if you’re afraid I’ll suffer more because of the things you tell me, you’re wrong. I care that they happened. I care that they still hurt you. But not knowing is so much worse.  
  
“You know, I was there with you, in it. In the war. And while you were doing the fighting, I was waiting. That is all I did, was wait for people to come to me so I could heal them. That was my job. That’s what I was supposed to do. But while I was waiting I felt totally helpless, and completely inadequate. Because I was just left twiddling my thumbs while my baby brother was fighting a war. I couldn’t protect you from that, and that was my real job. That was my job from the day you were born, you and Deb. But I couldn’t stop a war, and you both were too brave for me to stop. I see your face, and you are brave, and don’t argue with me because I am right. Nathan…the longer I waited, the more I was just waiting for someone to walk up to me and tell me that you were dead. And I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. And before then? Before the war started? After they took you away, I sobbed. For _years_ I didn’t know what had happened. I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. I didn’t know if you were safe or not. And I couldn’t help you at all. And it was then that I imagined all the terrible things that could’ve been happening to you and I was preoccupied constantly by whatever shit I was making up. All of it kept me terrified. And I couldn’t do jack fucking shit.  
  
“It was not knowing that was the real torture, you understand? Talk to me, Nathan. Don’t try to keep me in the dark because you want to protect me. All that’s going to do is leave me waiting again, and that’s the worst thing. That’s when I really start to get afraid.”  
He looked at me very intently, to make sure he had my full attention. “Nathan, I love you. I want you to be happy. Please talk to me. I can help you. For the first time, I can really help you. I will listen to whatever you have to say. Even if you’re only saying it so you can get it out of your head.”  
I…  
I didn’t…expect that.  
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I nodded. “…Okay.”  
“So you’ll talk to me now?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Even if I keep making puns?”  
“No. That’s too much.”  
He laughed, and I smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How much do you know about when I was sick?”  
“I watched you for about a week, the last week before your thing with Van and Gabriel.”  
“Oh.”  
“…I can feel you wanting to ask something.”  
“What was I…how was I?”  
He waited a bit before responding. “You were frightening. I was frightened for you.”  
“Oh.”  
“You weren’t yourself. And Gabriel gave me all these instructions on how to keep you safe, and some of them were useful, others were a bit useless. But you’re here now nonetheless, so we must have done something right.”  
“Why wasn’t Gabriel there?”  
“It was hard on him, to see you like that. He wanted to be with you, but he couldn’t take the waiting. He tried his absolute best, though. He was there when he could be.”  
“…oh.”  
“Hey, don’t do that. I know what you’re doing. Stop it. Alright? You didn’t cause any of this to happen, and if it helps you to know I’ll talk about it as long as you want.”  
“Hm.”  
“I want a ‘yes’.”  
“Alrght.”  
“Alright?”  
“Okay, yes.”  
“Good.”

“So do you know about the deal with Van?”  
“I know that she helped you. But I don’t know what Gabriel said to make her.”  
“He’s not saying anything.”  
“He may not have, and just doesn’t want to tell you.”  
“But why?”  
“Uh. It could be because he doesn’t want you to feel worse than you do. Or because he feels stupid for not hashing out the specifics beforehand and doesn’t want to admit he did something rash. Or because he’s trying to ignore it himself because it’s too overwhelming for him to deal with, especially with everything that’s just happened. But those are just guesses. You know him better than I do.”  
“Yeah. But…what would Van want?”  
“You know about all the territory she has, right? She might want to do something with that.”  
“What territory?”  
“You don’t know?”  
“No.”  
He gave me a pointed look.  
I scowled back. “I just wanted everything to go away! I didn’t want to think about it.”  
“Alright. Well, after the war, Van sent out Celia and a few other White Witches she’d managed to turn to her cause and secured miles and miles and miles of territory from what the Soul and the other White Witches previously owned. She said it was for ‘the peaceful cohabitation of all witches’. And she’s been doing more than just making potions since then. I think she’s letting some of the refugees who were pushed out of their homes stay there.”  
“So what would she have me do? Grow them a tree house?”  
“I don’t know, Nathan. I’m not Van. But it was a proper war, you know. There are a lot of refugees.”  
“Mph.”  
“I know this will sound weak, but try not to worry about it. Van is coming back in a few days, right?”  
“Yeah.”  
“So just enjoy the next few days.”  
“Hm.”

“I didn’t…hurt you, did I? Or Gabriel?”  
“No, Nathan, you didn’t hurt me. Or Gabriel.”  
“…Alright.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arran and Gabriel get along great. I’m really pleased about that, not that I really had any doubts. I love them both so much, and they know how much I’d hate it if they couldn’t stand each other. Plus, really, nobody can dislike Arran. He’s one of the best people. He doesn’t have one mean bit in him. Gabriel…does, but he only shows it to those he really hates. And that’s few and far between.  
When we came back, Gabriel didn’t ask what we talked about. Arran hung around for a while before he really had to leave—his finals are coming up, he said, and this is the first year that he’s actually been working in the hospital with patients. He needs to review their charts and go over their meds, and whatever else it is doctors do.  
He gave me a long hug when he left, and repeated, “Anything, ok? Anything at all. Yeah?”  
I nodded.  
He and Gabriel did that French thing where you kiss on both cheeks, because Arran thought it was neat and insists on doing it every time they see each other. He jokes that it makes him feel more cultured.  
After he left, Gabriel settled down next to me. “Are you ok?”  
I nodded, and it felt a bit truer. “Are you?”  
He sighed and twisted a lock of his hair around his fingers. He leaned back and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Yes.”  
The weight of the debt he owes Van is still in the air, but it feels a little less heavy now, now that it’s not combined with everything else I couldn’t talk about. I can wait until he’s ready to tell me. If he even knows at all. I have a feeling he may have plunged into this without much forethought. And if he did, well, Van is coming back in a few days anyway. I’ll find out then.  
I leaned into him and kissed his neck. “Read to me.”  
I wanted it to rain. I like the way it sounds with his breathing, his measured voice. So calming. And so I cuddled closer to him, and he picked up the latest book he’d been reading, and the rain began pattering on the windows. And so it was.  
« Je n'ai jamais écrit, croyant le faire, je n'ai jamais aimé, croyant aimer…je n'ai jamais rien fait qu'attendre devant la porte fermée… »

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this procrastination? Is this therapy? Who knows! I don't.


	9. Chapter 9

So Van showed up today.

I’m wary. But I..don’t actually think this is a bad idea. Her proposition, I mean.  
It would give us something to do. It could help us both. The war wrecked me, so much I'm still learning how deep the hurt went. Maybe helping in the aftermath will help me make amends with myself.  
  
There is a refugee crisis.  
The mass exodus from Britain and other parts of Europe displaced thousands of Black Witches. Some of them are in North Africa, some of them fled to Asia, but most of them tried to escape to America. And with the tensions there already rising, they weren’t allowed in Black Witch communities for fear it would look like they were militarizing and set off some sort of pre-emptive attack from the White Witch communities, so they were forced to set out to find their own territory. No small feat.  
There’s still fighting in America, with the refugees trying to find a place to live. They can’t go into White Witch territory without starting a spat. They can’t go into Black Witch territory without disobeying the authority that decides they can’t be there. So a lot of them are in hiding, sheltered by Black Witch families in quiet. And although that might be a temporary solution, it is in no way a long-term one. Especially when one considers that many fain governments are getting in the way of the Black Witch migration, forcing the refugees to use all the tricks they have at their disposal. And, well, Black Witches were never known to be upstanding citizens, but this uprising level of criminality is becoming a serious issue.  
Britain still isn’t entirely safe, but it’s better than nothing. It’s better than leaving them there for feelings to fester and letting the fighting continue. They need to live somewhere. At least there they have territory, albeit loaded with unpleasant memories. And of course they’ll still need to take precautions, but nothing more than what they’ve been doing now.  
That’s how Van described it to me.

I think she just wants us to relocate the Black Witches back so she can say she instigated it, and get the support of the White Witches back in America whose territory won’t be threatened any longer, gain the favor of the Black Witch government whose laws she’s helping enforce, and make the thousands refugees who can’t get themselves to safety indebted to her, living in her territory and under her surveillance.  
To have taken all that territory she needed to have been planning for something like this. But she didn’t have a way to actually get it to happen until now. With that sort of power backing her, both across the ocean and with the refugees, Van could do anything she wants in Europe, especially now that the White Witch government is still so distraught. She would have immense power. Especially if she can display that she has Gabriel and me in her pocket, too.  
I don’t want anything to do with politics. I don’t want power. I still just want to be left alone. But if it’s a choice between having Van as a leader or resurrecting Soul, the choice is obvious.  
Van explained to us what she wants us to do.  
She wants me to make strategic cuts from her territory to the locations where we know for certain there are large numbers of refugees. She wants Gabriel to use his Gift to measure the sentiment of the people, get inside knowledge on how they think and feel, take the pulse of the current climate. She wants him to win them over. And she wants me to help.  
Apparently I’m something of a legend. Those were Van’s exact words. I scoffed when she said that, but Gabriel nodded solemnly. If Gabriel can get them to start thinking about relocating, Van says that my presence will convince them of it.  
“Why?”  
She gave me a strange look. “Nathan, you’re the son of Marcus. You have more Gifts than anyone else in recorded history. You’re the reason the Alliance won the war, and everyone knows it, all witches, no matter what side. If people think they’re under your protection, nobody is going to try to attack them.”  
“But I’m not. I’m living here. I can’t protect them if I’m living here.”  
“Van, we’re not fighting.” The way Gabriel said it made me think he meant less “we” and more “Nathan”, specifically.  
“Don’t worry yourselves too much. It’s not about what you do that matters.” She raised her eyebrows at us and took a drag on her cigarette. “It’s what you appear to be.”  
I snorted. Van blew smoke at me.  
“These people are still living in constant fear. The kind of fear you lived with for most of your life. Didn’t you wish someone would help you?”  
“I want to be left alone.”  
“Nathan, darling. For you, that has never been an option.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I want to be left alone.  
Oh, it was so nice to be left alone.  
I run every day. I run as fast as I can, as long as I can. But all these problems keep following me and I can’t shake them.  
I never wanted to be a part of this, but I suppose the universe had different ideas. I’ve learned to stop asking why.  
I’ve done so many bad things.  
Is this my chance to atone?  
I don’t want to fight anymore.  
But I can think that.  
How many people don’t even have that?  
But they’re strangers, not us.  
Are they worth putting ourselves in danger? Do we even have a choice?  
I don’t know.  
I need to think.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have the opportunity to do a great thing. I can help people. I should want to help people. I do want to help people.  
But I can’t just be looked at like a thing anymore. I have to be a person. They have to treat me like a person. I’m not a weapon. I’m Nathan. I can’t do this if I’m not going to be Nathan.  
I tried talking to Gabriel.  
“I’ll go wherever you go.”  
“Do I have a choice?”  
“There’s always a choice. We could disappear.”  
“I don’t want to live on the run again.”  
“I guess you’ve made your choice, then.”  
“I’m not just…I’m a person. I’m not some sort of war machine.”  
“I know. But I think if you do this they’ll know too. You’re just a legend to them right now, Nathan. Legends aren’t people. People are people. Once you’ve proven to them you’re real I think you’ll find less of that problem.”  
“…”  
“And I can’t guarantee we’ll be safe, but if you don’t want to fight, I am coincidentally mildly talented with a number of firearms.”  
“I’ll fight with you. If we have to fight.”  
“Alright.”  
“Alright.”

Van hasn’t assigned us anything just yet. She’s gathering information from her contacts. Soon enough, she’ll have something for us. But, for now, it’s calm.

Gabriel doesn’t have work anymore. He told me he quit everything.  
Well, I guess I got what I wanted. Not exactly how I would have chosen to go about it, but. It worked.  
He went on a run with me this morning. Once I felt I’d gone long enough I was way up ahead of him, about a mile and a half or so. So I doubled back and ran to him again, and we finished together.  
Gabriel sat next to me, his elbows on his knees, panting. “I could have gone faster. This was an off day.”  
“Yeah, okay.”  
“Was that sarcasm?”  
“Nooo.”  
“There’s no need for that.” He shoved me a bit, grinning. I shoved him back. And because we’re children, it escalated until he tackled me to the ground. I used the momentum to my advantage and rolled on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, pinning him.  
“I win.”  
“How sad,” he drawled, looking nothing of the sort. He pulled my face down and gave me a long kiss, a little clumsy because both of us were still breathing hard. I could feel his pulse fast in his temples when I smoothed his hair back, putting my weight on my elbows. He cupped my face with one hand, my side with the other.  
And then, without warning, he flipped us over. Roughly.  
“H—Ow!”  
“I win!”

Oh, fuck him.  
I love him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So I got asked a weird question today. A lot of them, actually.  
We were lying around after dinner. The sun was low and the air was cold, so we were inside soaking up the warmth from the fireplace before we had to go out. I was sketching, trying to get a good picture of the fire. It wasn’t working very well.  
Gabriel dragged my attention away. “Hey, Nathan.”  
“Mm?”  
“What do you prefer?”  
I stopped sketching, the pencil in midair. “What?”  
He was looking at me quizzically. “I just had a thought. I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid.”  
“No, what?”  
“Well, I’ve never been attracted to girls. But you obviously are. And obviously you like boys. So which do you prefer?”  
“I prefer you, although I might be regretting it right now.”  
“Hn.”  
“You’re gonna ask me something else, aren’t you?”  
“Well, but just…just how? Did you…”  
I gave a little laugh. It was uncomfortable. That’s pretty rare around Gabriel. “Do you think I’ve spent much time thinking about this? I didn’t exactly have massive amounts of free time for introspection during my formative years.”  
“Mph.”  
“I knew I liked Annalise because I got to know her and I liked her. And I know I like you because I got to know you and I like you.”  
“So you need to get to know the person first, then.”  
“Doesn’t anybody?”  
“Not always.”  
“Well, I can’t do that.”  
“But you’ve had to be a bit exceptional in who you trust.”  
“Obviously.”  
“…But do you have a preference though? In the gender?”  
“I’ve only ever dated one boy and one girl. And you know how that ended.”  
“But I mean just physically, though.”  
“Why does this matter so much to you?”  
“Well, because, I’m…you know…”  
“I really don’t, Gabriel. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
“Just that…never mind.”  
“What?”  
I scrutinized him for a while. He looked more embarrassed than I’ve ever seen him.  
“Does this have something to do with your Gift?”  
“Uh.”  
“Gabriel, wait.” I grimaced a bit as I started to understand what his end game might have been. “Is this about shape-shifting?”  
“No,” he muttered unconvincingly.  
“Are you saying that you’d shape-shift yourself into one or the other if that’s what I said I preferred?”  
“Nmm.”  
As I shook my head I put my pencil and sketchpad down. “Gabriel, you don’t have to do that.”  
“I know I wouldn’t have to.”  
His voice was a lot higher when he said that.  
And distinctly feminine.  
I turned back to him and he was still himself, sort of, but not.  
I was confused.  
He looked like Gabriel. He had the same hair and the same eyes. He was definitely glaring at me like Gabriel does. His skin color was the same fair shade he’s getting now that the days are shorter and the sun is weaker, and he had those few little strands of dark eyebrow on the left side that didn’t like to function with the rest, even if it was a little thinner. And he was wearing the same clothes and everything. But. His lips were fuller and his face was less angular and his nose was a little smaller. And he was shorter. Still strong as hell, I could tell in the way he held himself that he retained all his rock-climber’s strength. But more, uh, compact.  
And he had, you know. It was surprising to see my boyfriend, with...  
“Uh. Um. I don’t—ah.”  
Now he was laughing, really, really hard. “Haha! You—your face!”  
“You can’t just do that!”  
He was biting his lip to keep from laughing, grinning at me. “But, so?”  
“So, you’re a girl.”  
“Am I an attractive girl?”  
“...Yeah. But you are as yourself too. Attractive. Should I call you a guy or a girl?”  
“Well, I’m still a guy. I just don’t look like one right now.”  
“Okay.”  
“Okay, come on, I want to try something. Come here.”  
I side-eyed him a little bit. “ ‘Try something’?”  
“Yeah, here, wait.” He climbed into my lap. He was lighter than usual. He ran his fingers through my hair, thinner than I’m used to.  
I was just so confused.  
“Is this a test?”  
He laughed at me. “No. I just want to see how it feels.”  
I didn't have anything to say to that. He leaned in closer, our lips brushing as he talked. “If that’s alright.”  
My eyes were already closing.  
And then he kissed me.  
It didn’t feel much different from how he usually kisses me. His hands were a bit smaller, and when I wrapped my arms around him he was a little thinner and a little softer. He guided my hands, placing them where he wanted them to go. I made my mind go blank and tried to think about nothing except the way it felt, and after that everything was much easier. From where he was putting my hands, though, I really had to try hard not to think. It was distracting.  
“Is this good?” His voice was a little lower, but nothing like his normal voice. It was nice, but still strange. My face was surrounded by his hair, and all I could see was him. His eyes looked a little bigger than usual, but they still had the gold swirls in them.  
“Mhm.” He still smelled like him, but there was a little twist in it, way down deep in the scent. I wouldn’t have been able to catch it if the animal and I weren’t on such good terms.  
“But you thought it was better before, huh?”  
I gave him a little kiss. “Whatever you want to look like, I’ll love you.”  
“You haven’t given me a single straight answer in this conversation.”  
“Well, neither of us are straight.”  
He threw his head back and laughed. “You hang out with Arran too much. His horrible sense of humor is rubbing off.”  
“But the first part, though. I mean it. Whatever you look like. Really.”  
He got an evil glint in his eye and brushed his hair away. “Oh, don’t say that. Remember Mitch? That guy whose bank account we cleaned out?”  
“Not the fat old guy!”  
“Yes the fat old guy!”  
“No, that’s no, that’s too much. I’m not into Mitch.”  
“Oh, poor Mitch.”  
“Hm, yes. Good thing you’re much better suited for me.”  
“Mm.” He brought his face down for another kiss before climbing off me. His clothes looked strange on him, bunched up in the wrong places, tight in places they didn’t used to be. He started to walk back into the kitchen, his hips swinging differently than before. His step was a little clumsy, but that was because he was also attempting to get out of his way the pant legs that were dragging on the ground. He lost about five inches.  
“So how long are you planning to be like this?”  
He made that “I don’t know” face where he sticks out his bottom lip and raises his eyebrows. He shrugged.  
“If I’m going to be gathering information again, I can’t always look like myself. With Mercury, my saving grace was that I was a fain. Before that I had to shape-shift a lot.”  
“There was a before that?”  
He nodded. His eyes looked far away. “When Michele was still around.”  
“…I’m sorry.”  
“It wasn’t your fault, my love.”  
“Doesn’t matter. Still am.”  
“I know.” He sighed and bunched his hair to the back of his head, making a messy ponytail. “Anyway. It’s really usually the women who know what’s going on, especially in times of crisis, considering they usually have stronger Gifts. I’ve got to re-learn how to be in character for an extended period of time. And, uh, I may have to keep up a disguise for a pretty long while. So I think I’ll sleep on it.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “If you don’t mind.”  
I followed after him and wrapped my arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. He being shorter than me was something very new to get used to. Among other things. “No, I don’t.”

I think what Gabriel was trying there was to see if I’ll still be as attracted to him even when he doesn’t look like himself when we go out scouting for Van. When he’s poking around for information from the refugees about the state of affairs they fled from, who they used to be affiliated with before the war, who they’re under right now, who’s the big shot to gain favor of in their area.  
Van wants to know who she’s taking in before she does so, to make sure she doesn’t spark any tensions or stain any alliances. Who can she take in that will win favor of the largest number of people in power? Who can she take in to gain the most power for herself?  
Even if her acts of goodwill may look spontaneous, Gabriel and I know that everything she does is calculated.  
I’m going to accompany him out. I don’t care about the migraines. I can withstand it. I haven’t talked to him about it, because I know he has a different opinion, so I’m not even going to ask.  
Once I’ve perfected my cat forms—which I’ve picked back up practicing—that’s what I’ll go as. Cats are good at remembering, better than birds. And they have exceptional hearing—wonderful for eavesdropping. The form I’ll be most comfortable in will depend on the area, though.  
From what we’ve heard, some of the camps are real hellholes. Very dangerous. For those, I may turn into something a bit scarier. Especially if Gabriel has to take a form that’s not particularly intimidating. Just because he can defend himself doesn’t mean he should have to fight. Neither of us want to—so sometimes, like Van said, appearances are everything.  
I guess his gist was that he won’t be given the security necessary to break his disguise, and neither of us knows how long these missions will last before we can get start relocating them, if they’re even eligible through Van’s long list of requirements. Neither of us have any idea how long these undercover missions will last.  
What have we gotten ourselves into?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He wore my clothes to bed. My sweatpants and one of my shirts. They fit him better than his own clothes did in that form, but they still weren’t exactly right.  
I wonder, does Gabriel get this feeling when I wear his clothes?  
If he does, I should wear them more often.

“It’s weird being the little spoon.”  
“Do you want to be on the outside?”  
“No, not now. You’re around three inches taller than me now. I’d look stupid trying. And I’d get cold. You just get really warm.”  
“It’s my personality.”  
“You know people think you’re a legend, right?”  
“My jokes are legendary.”  
“It’s practically magic you make jokes at all.”  
“Only to you. And Arran.”  
“Truly a shame. I’m honored. Attends, scoot over. Okay.”  
“Better?”  
“Yeah.”

“This next...this thing we're doing, however long it is, it's not going to be easy, love. I’m going to hold you up to what you said earlier.”  
“I stand by it. I’ll never love Mitch.”  
“I know you know I meant the other thing.”  
“You just want to hear me say it again.”  
“Well, yeah. I do.”

“I love you. Always.”  
I could hear the smile in his voice. “I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The ideal thing would be if they had space, which the US has a lot of,” Van said. “But the fastest way to the United States is through the east coast, which doesn’t have much of that available. And unlike you, my dear Nathan, not everyone can make cuts to go anywhere they want. So they’ve been crowding airplanes and boats and whatever else they can find trying to get away. There are a lot of witches counting their pennies right now—many had to flee their homes with only what they could carry. There are some out towards the middle of America, but more of them in the northeast, because that’s cheaper. There’s a very high concentration of Black Witches in Salem, Masachussets. Many thought they could seek refuge there. Now that they’re being refused, it’s in the surrounding areas that they’ve been stirring up the most trouble.”  
“Nathan is still sensitive to electricity,” Gabriel reminded her. “He can’t be near big cities.”  
“I’ve been working on that. I think I’ve made a potion that can stave off the effects. I’ll need you to try it out first, but I believe it could be very effective.”  
I nodded. “How soon will you have it?”  
“I have it now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The potion was streaked orange and green. It was fizzy. It smelled like citrus, but it didn’t taste like it. I’d like for once to find a potion that didn’t taste disgusting. I told Van to try that out next time.  
She stuck around to monitor me for a while, until she said the effects would set in, but she didn’t have time to venture with us somewhere else. “Should I send Nesbitt with you to record Nathan’s reaction, or do you think you can handle that, Gabriel?”  
“We’ll be fine.”  
“Take him to a metropolis. Call me if he has a reaction. I need this potion ready and reliable as soon as possible. Keep him there the entire day, if he can stand it.”  
Gabriel nodded, and she left through the cut.  
I was sitting on the table. He sat in the chair next to me. “Is your stomach okay?”  
“Yeah.”  
“And your head?”  
“Yep.”  
He was grinning. “Where do you want to go?”  
“I have a feeling you’d have more fun deciding.”  
I was right.

Have you ever been to Paris, Deb?

It’s wonderful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arran is worried.  
“Isn’t there something else you could do?”  
“Like what?”  
“I don’t know, help her make potions, or something.”  
“Do you forget I can’t read? That I’m an eighteen year old with a sixth grade education?”  
“You have to be able to do something better than this.”  
“I think this might be a good thing I can do, actually.”  
“You don’t have to be the one to do it.”  
“Who else could, Arran?”  
“I don’t know. Someone. An adult. You’re only…you just…you weren’t supposed to do this.” He was tearing up little pieces of the grass. I was re-growing them.  
“It’s always been about what I’m supposed to do.”  
“But you don’t want to. I don’t want you to.”  
“Wanting doesn’t have to do with it. Although, with this, I think I might want to more than any of the others.”  
“You’ll be back in danger. You and Gabriel both.”  
“Was I ever really safe, though, or was it just a feeling?”  
He gave me a pained look, and I thought again about what he told me before. About the waiting. About how that’s what he’ll be doing again. And how he needs to believe that I’m safe, because that’s the only way he continues.  
"I think she's using you both."  
“She is. I know. But at least now it's for something I halfway agree with. I’m sorry, Arran. But…I don’t know what else to do.”  
He shook his head. “I don’t either.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our first place is called Providence.  
“Ironic, right? Like they were searching for salvation. The wastes of the war congregated to Providence with hopes of absolution, and found nothing but violence set upon them again.”  
“Alright, Gabriel.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a bit of a nothing city, except for the colleges there. Gabriel was going on about how one of the most renowned universities in America is there. It doesn’t look like much to me. Certainly no Paris. And too ugly to be my Wales.  
I don’t know much about America. But their statehouse was right next to a massive shopping mall, so that gives me a bit of a clue.  
Before we got here I had to chug another one of those damn potions. I guess that will be part of my morning routine from now on. Before we left, Gabriel shifted into a teenage guy a few years younger than himself, dark hair in tiny curls and skinny limbs everywhere. I shifted into a dog, and followed by his side.  
For today, we’re just walking around, seeing if we can spot any Black Witches—or any White ones—and figure out where they congregated. Where their government was located. Where the refugees might be hiding. Everything was a maybe, for today. We weren’t searching for answers, just more questions.  
I’m a bit worried about Gabriel, because he’s so obviously a Black Witch.. Van told us that the divisions between boarders here is difficult—it used to be all White, but then with the influx of Black Witches a few hundred years ago, the territory has become mixed. And now with the refugees, the problems that existed beforehand have become inflamed. At least I can hide as an animal.  
The streets are quaint, not what I think of when I think America. They’re small. The buildings are brick. Gabriel explained to me that the East Coast looks more European than the West, because it was made before cars.  
There were a lot of new sounds and smells, but I needed to stay focused for Gabriel.  
He was walking faster than his usual stroll now, so I thought he found someone. A woman, in her late thirties or early forties maybe.  
We followed her for a long while, and she didn’t notice. We watched her walk into a little dilapidated brick apartment building, watched her punch in the code. We sat on the sidewalk and Gabriel smoked one of Van’s calming cigarettes, and watched for others. The woman had led us deep into Black Witch territory, I could tell by the way the people passing by smelled. A lot were fains. But more were witches. I knew Gabriel could tell, too.  
We sat, and we watched, and I know he mentally recorded where the most Black Witches seemed to be walking. A lot went to the apartment building. But more went down a side street, and from there we couldn’t see.  
We walked past the alley, and it had the same sort of dense magic that the White Witch Council Building had placed on it. At the end of the alley I believe there might have been a door, from what I could see and smell, but we couldn’t stay for very long without being inconspicuous.  
That’s not normal magic, that. So there are two options. One—we’ve found a very large congregation of extraordinarily talented refugees, right in the middle of Black Witch territory. Or two, and more likely, we’ve found their government building.  
We wandered around some more after that. Gabriel tailed some different people, and I know he has some ideas what to do next. We passed by a lot of White Witches, too. None of them noticed Gabriel, thankfully. He put his hand on my head to calm me whenever I seemed particularly on edge so I didn’t bring attention to us, either. I love being in the dog form, but it isn’t very good at thinking. One of its strengths and its faults.  
We stayed out until long past the sun set. As we returned to the cut, he stopped in a restaurant and grabbed us both dinner with American money he seemed to get out of nowhere—I have no idea how he manages to pickpocket others without me noticing even when I’m right next to him. Also I dislike that in America you’re not allowed to bring your dogs into public places. A few people tried to come up and pet me while I was waiting for him to return. I growled at them, and they promptly left.  
We were both exhausted, Gabriel much more so than me. Once we got through the cut, we ate our dinner wordlessly. He practically fell on the mattress and was asleep hardly after his head hit the pillow.  
I’m still busy processing everything I’ve seen with my normal faculties. I think Gabriel’s found the apartments of three different people he wants to follow more.  
Hopefully one of them will add up to something tangible.  
  
That's all I have for now, Deb. I should get back and try to get some sleep. I really doubt Gabriel is going to wake up any time tonight, but if he does, I'd rather not worry him.  
 I'll give you more information when I get it. Love you.


	10. Chapter 10

Hey, sorry I haven’t talked in a while.  
So, Gabriel found someone. Someone he thought could get us somewhere.  
The violence that was escalating in Providence created a mass exodus.  
Gabriel didn’t tell me all that much about America. But he did tell me what happens to Black Witches caught in territory that’s not their own.  
I was on edge.

I was a cat, because I’m stupid. What the hell can a cat do? A cat can’t do anything.  
He was a female again. He had a dark hair in a pixie-cut and a little tattoo on the side of his neck.  
I’ve been talking to Arran. Because after you died, do you know who all your things went to? Yeah, him. He still has a lot of your clothes in stowed away in boxes. I don’t think he can make himself give them away.  
Before you died, I hadn’t seen you in four years. It was strange going through your stuff, seeing your clothes, which obviously belonged to a woman, and not the teenager I remembered you to be. We missed a lot of time together, you and me.  
Anyway.  
He wore your clothes with a tattoo and a pistol hidden under his coat, and I trailed him as a cat.  
It was our fourth day. We had gotten fairly confident around the city. We knew where things were, though we mostly stayed in Black Witch territory. We still hadn’t made headway on the refugees—wherever they were, they were good at hiding. All the leads we found lead us to nothing.  
He decided to take a risk, and went into new territory.  
He’s so obviously a Black Witch. It’s in the way he walks, something about his façon d’être, he calls it.  
I knew it was a bad idea, and he knew it even more than me, but once Gabriel gets something into his head he’s hard to stop. He thought he’d made headway—that something useful would come out of it.  
I weaved through puddles and wrinkled my nose at the smell of urine. Gabriel’s footsteps echoed up and down the slick walls.  
We were walking under a bridge, near the waterway in the center of the city. It’s usually frequented by groups of teenagers with nowhere else to do their business, the homeless, or the wandering. Or us.  
You see, it’s because Gabriel had a hunch. This spot is really the most sheltered public place in the city. He figured it was a good place to try to start some trouble. To stay if you had nowhere to go. To maybe get to know someone who knew something, anything.  
There was a girl there. She looked about his age. She looked angry.  
“You. Hey, you. I need to speak to you.” She had a mean sort of face. Or maybe that was just my projection. Her expression looked reminiscent of Celia.  
“I don’t have any spare change, sorry.”  
“Black Witch.”  
He stopped walking. I was in the shadows near her, close to the wall, my tail twitching. I didn’t like being here and not next to him, but if something bad happened, I figured I could make time stop if I needed to. I was trying to see if I could find any hints of the White Witch’s Gift in her scent, but it was confused with the scents of so many others. Which, in and of itself, was alarming—but also, unfortunately, what we wanted.  
“You need to get out of this territory.”  
“I have nowhere to go.”  
“You can’t stay here.”  
“Please—what other option do I have?”  
“I don’t know. I don’t care. You just need to leave.”  
“I don’t believe you have the authority to say that.”  
I could smell more White Witches coming closer, so I decided to signal Gabriel. I ran out of the shadows and knocked over a trash bin. It landed with an echoing crash.  
“See, me, alone—you’re right. I don’t have the authority. But my friends and I, well, we do.”  
At that, Gabriel looked a little nervous. He looked more so when three other people walked under the bridge. All of them White Witches.  
One of them talked. “Look, I don’t care where you’re from, or where you go. Just get the hell out of our territory.” The one who spoke didn’t look like much. Tall but chubby, red in the face. It was the knife she was holding that looked formidable.  
Gabriel hesitated. I knew he had a little knife stashed away, but it was nothing like the weapon this girl was holding, and it was nothing like the Bowie knife he’d given me. And he didn’t want to be the one to bring a gun to a knife fight, not yet.  
Not to mention that this form was still unfamiliar to him. He was bound to be clumsy. And in any kind of fight, that just doesn’t fly.  
“Are you leaving or what?”  
Gabriel eyed her, trying to calculate what he should do next.  
I prepared myself to stop time.  
‘Hey! Hey, Erin, I found you.”  
A tall, scruffy looking guy in his twenties called from the other side of the pass way. He smelled a little like Ellen. And a lot like the dead plant he had in a bag in his back pocket.  
He turned to the others.  
“Sorry, I’ve been looking for her everywhere. She’s my cousin. She got here on a different plane and neither of our phones work in this country.” He looked earnest. Good liar.  
The chubby girl glared at him. “Why are your accents different?”  
“We grew up in different countries. Does it really matter to you?”  
She scowled at him. “Get the fuck out of here.”  
He scowled back, taking Gabriel’s arm. “With pleasure.”

“My name is Ellen. Not Erin.” Ellen would be honored. Though her name didn’t quite his appearance, in my opinion.  
“Would have been interesting if it was, though. Scott. That your cat?”  
“Yeah.”  
“What’s her name?”  
Shit, we didn’t figure out a name for me. I didn’t want anyone to know my name. I know Gabriel didn’t either.  
“Uh. Salem.”  
“A Black Witch has a cat named Salem?”  
“I thought it was fitting.”  
“Okay, Sabrina.”  
“…I suppose I should thank you for that.”  
“You could do so my treating me to your presence for a little while. Are you hungry?”  
“Are you asking me for lunch?”  
“If you don’t mind.”  
“I thought you were just being chivalrous.”  
“Well, that too, obviously. But also, I’d like to talk to you.”  
Gabriel scrutinized him. Ocean eyes, like Ellen’s but not. With green and grey and brown flecks tinted just enough to be almost red. Half-Black.  
I could smell secrets on him.  
Well.  
We found something.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I waited outside the café on one of the chairs. I could hear inside.  
Gabriel ordered coffee. “And a milk,” he added, grinning. “With a bowl.”  
When he returned, he reached out to pet me. I bit his hand.  
Milk.  
Really.  
We’re supposed to be professionals.  
He yelped, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from snickering. He scooped me up before I could jump away and gathered me in an all-encompassing hug. I had approximately one and a half paws and one ear free. Not very professional.  
Scott came back with a tray. Two coffees, a little carton, and a bowl.  
“Can I pet her?” he asked, sitting down.  
“He’s a he,” Gabriel said, letting me go and opening the milk carton instead. “And he likes his personal space.”  
Thank god for that. I picked a spot on the table and licked my fur back into place, still offended. Gabriel set the milk down next to me. I scooted away from it.  
Gabriel started working his metaphorical magic on Scott. I tucked my tail underneath me and listened. Mostly, it was a nothing conversation, small talk, just for feeling each other out.  
We found out that Scott’s mom is fain and his dad is a Black Witch. His Gift isn’t quite ordinary, but it’s too sporadic to really be of any use. He can see through time, but only when it wants to be seen—meaning in bouts and spurts. He told Gabriel the first time his dad had a vision was two weeks after his Giving. It lasted for approximately thirty seconds, after which he passed out for three hours, and didn’t make any sense at all. He found out after twenty years that it had been Scott he saw toddling around their living room, throwing stuffed animals at their dog.  
“So they don’t happen often, then?”  
“He can count on both hands how many he’s had. And for most of them, he doesn’t even know if they’re in the future or in the past.”  
Scott doesn’t have any witchlike abilities. Although he said he still has hope. He proceeded to make guesses about Gabriel’s life, all of them extremely misinformed. Some of them were rather funny.  
“You got that tattoo to symbolize the freedom of leaving a painful relationship.”  
“Hey, you’re right.”  
“Really?”  
“No, I was drunk.”  
“Ha!”  
They continued like that for a while, until Scott finally admitted, “Ah, well, can’t say I’m surprised. Although I have to say for once Half-Fains don’t seem to be having it as bad. It’s you guys that have been really taking a hit.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Do you mind me asking what your Gift is?”  
“Yeah. I do.”  
“Oh. Uh, sorry.”  
Gabriel made a show of sighing. He ran his fingers through his choppy hair. “Sorry. These last few months have really set me on edge. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you.”  
“No, I get it. It’s hard.” At least he tried to be sympathetic. And then, realizing that he most likely would never, in fact, “get” someone fleeing for their life from everything they’ve ever known, he proceeded change the subject for another half hour.  
Until, “So you need a place to stay.”  
“Yeah.”  
Scott nodded. “I know a place you could stay for maybe one or two nights. But your best bet is to get out of here.”  
“I think you’ve realized that’s much easier said than done.”  
“Yeah, I have. But I know there’s a way. They’re at the shelter.”  
“There’s a shelter?”  
“Yes.”  
“A Black Witch shelter?”  
“Well, it’s sort of one. It’s an old factory that some Black Witches refurnished in their territory when they realized what a problem this was becoming. You guys escalate tensions here we’ve been trying to tamper down for ages.” He paused. “Sorry. Europe can’t be better.”  
“It’s not. But whatever. This shelter. Is it safe?”  
“Safer than anywhere else.”  
“What do you know about it?”  
“I know the person who runs it.”  
“Take me to them.”  
He nodded. “I will. But on one condition.”  
My ears pricked up.  
“What’s that?”  
“The lovely lady lets me treat her to another coffee sometime.”  
Gabriel smiled. “If I’m ever in the area and about to get into a sorrowfully outmatched knife fight, I’ll let you know.” He stood up. “When can we go?”  
“Now. We can go now,” he said, and reached to put the empty cups back on the tray.  
I stood up and stretched. Scott reached out to pet me.  
I jumped off the table, setting it off balance and sending it—and the full carton of milk—crashing into Scott’s lap.  
Oops.

Scott brought us to the shelter. It wasn’t much, just some mattresses and cots lined up in between bed-sheets strung up around the inside of the old factory for privacy. Grungy, but clean, for the most part. Someone had charmed the broken windows, so the place was still warm despite them.  
The room was divided in two. One side was for men and the other was for woman and children. There were three men, one of them fiddling with something on his bed, the other two playing cards. A few women sat huddled in the corner, talking. One was cradling a baby. Some of the younger kids were playing. One was taking a nap. All in all, about ten people.  
Van wanted more than about ten people.

Scott told us that the owner would probably be back soon. He sat with us and waited. I wandered towards the group of women, listening to their conversation. There were four of them, and they seemed to be arguing very intensely.  
“…that there’s more security there?” asked the woman with the baby.  
“Well, it has to be better than here. I can’t stand another day in this shack. I haven’t had a proper shower in ages.” She smelled like it.  
The third, a thin Asian woman in a dark blue coat, added, “I know Beth went. I haven’t heard from her yet, but she said it was supposed to be a good place. Said she had family in the area.”  
“I just don’t know what to do.”  
“Well, we can’t stay here.”  
“I don’t like it, though. It feels so…shady. Isn’t there a way w could take some sort of public transportation?”  
“What, all the way to Iowa? How much money do you have on you? Do you know how to steal?”  
“I want what’s best for Rory,” added the fourth. She hadn’t spoken yet. She seemed the most pensive out of all of them, with tired eyes and graying, frizzy hair in tight curls. Her dark skin held a pallor that I’m familiar with—the fatigue that comes from surviving instead of living. “She just turned twelve. We don’t have money. I want to give her a stable place to live and something to eat. If that means saving every penny, that’s what I’ll do.”  
“It just doesn’t seem safe.”  
“Nothing is safe, sweetheart,” replied the third woman. “It’s just a choice of what you think is worse.”  
The woman didn’t look placated. She stroked her daughter’s head and remained very quiet, deep in thought.  
I wandered away, back to Gabriel. But the little kids saw me. One of the little boys ran towards me. I sprinted into Gabriel’s lap.  
“Miss, is that your cat?”  
He looked about seven or so. The front of his shirt was stained with food. His sister was about two years his junior, and staring at me with a gleam in her eyes.  
Why didn’t I decide to be something scary instead? A snake would have worked. Or a rat. Nobody would want to touch me if I was a rat.  
“Yes, he is. But he’s very shy around people. He doesn’t like to be touched. Okay?”  
He nodded. “My sister’s shy too. But you’re petting him!”  
“That’s because he knows me. He doesn’t know you.”  
“I’m not scary though.”  
“Maybe if you’re really still and really calm he’ll come to you.”  
“Okay.”  
“What’s your name?”  
“Seth.”  
“Hi, Seth. I’m Ellen.”  
“Hi Ellen. My sister is Julie.”  
Gabriel gave the little girl a warm smile. “Hi, Julie.”  
“Hi,” she peeped, fiddling with her sweatshirt. “Your hair is pretty.”  
Gabriel laughed. “Thank you, love.”  
“Did you have to run away too?”  
“Yeah.”  
“We had to move out of our house because the bad people were going to come and they were going to try to hurt us and my mommy and my daddy, unless we moved.”  
“It’s a good thing you did.”  
“Yeah,” Seth interjected, uninterested in the topic. “Do you like chocolate?”  
“I love chocolate.”  
“Chocolate is my favorite. My mom let me have an entire chocolate bar on the plane here!”  
“Wow, you’re so lucky!”  
“Yeah I am.” Seth grinned and turned to his sister. “Do you want to play concentration again?”  
She shook her head, still looking at me. “What’s your cat’s name?”  
“Salem.”  
Julie nodded solemnly. “I like that name.”  
“He does too.”  
She was still staring.  
My tail twitched. I don’t like kids.  
I hoped the owner got here fast.

She was an older woman, with a shock of grey hair and a stern jaw. I heard her footsteps before either Gabriel or Scott. They rang were brisk and authoritarian, much like her general presence. When they heard, Scott stood. They exchanged quiet words. He shot a look at Gabriel, gave him a little wave, and left the room. I never saw him again after that.  
At first, she was intimidating. I could see the family resemblance in her face—she might have been Scott’s grandmother, or an aunt. I tried to focus. But the minute she started talking everything went a bit fuzzy.  
I remember being in Gabriel’s lap, and then climbing out of it, walking towards her. I wanted to be near her. I wanted her to like me. She made me feel so safe, safer, even, than Gabriel.  
I weaved myself through her legs. I think I was purring. When she reached down to pet me, I purred louder.  
I trusted her. I wanted her to trust me back.

I couldn’t pay much attention to what she was saying, though I tried. I couldn’t see the point of it. Obviously she was our ally. There was no need to be suspicious of her.  
I think at this point, Deb, you should have figured out what her Gift was.

With Gabriel, she talked about accommodation, about refugee migration patterns, and about how the increasing instability has lead her to set up a shuttle service to a different, more spread-out area, with larger Black Witch territory and less of a history of tension.  
It’s a long drive, over a day and half a night, but she said she thought it was the best option for him, especially because “you’re alone. You’d be much safer in a community”.  
A community was exactly what we were looking for.  
Oh, and the transportation she wanted him to take? It was leaving the next day.

That was pretty much all of it, I think. My memory is shaky. Again, I can’t remember much.  
When she tried to leave, I tried to follow. Gabriel grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go, even when I bit him. Only once she was out of sight and down the hall, when her scent was receding, was I calm enough for him to let me down.  
We didn’t get time to talk it over. We never had the chance. We were stuck in that shelter for the night and the next day, until they loaded us into the van, with nearly a dozen other people.  
If we had been able to, maybe Gabriel would have expressed some concerns. He liked the owner, but he didn’t seem as enchanted with her as I was. But then he’s always been much better at thinking critically than I am. Especially since, in animal form, my critical thinking tends to plummet from its already underdeveloped level.

Very early that morning, three men, four women, three children, a baby, Gabriel and I piled into the back of a windowless moving van. There was a wall separating us from the driver—we never saw his face.  
The owner walked us out, as entrancing as ever. Gabriel and I were the last ones in. He carried me tightly, no matter how much I needled his arms with my claws.  
“Thank you,” he said to her.  
“No need,” she responded, a tired smile on her face. “I’m just doing what needs to be done. This is a horrible thing. Whatever I can do to ameliorate it is nothing short of my duty.”  
He nodded, and climbed in, sitting next to the fourth woman from yesterday. The doors shut behind him, and it became black as night. The only faint light was from the vent on the far wall in the corner.  
We spread ourselves out. I settled myself as far away from the baby as possible, but it seems that their mother had a Gift for potions. Every few hours she gave them what smelled to be a sort of sleeping draught, so there was less noise than I feared, at least from that side.  
There was some old furniture piled around, for us to sit on. It smelled a little questionable, but then, everything about our situation was questionable. Might as well get used to it.  
The doors locked with a metallic clunk.  
The van started. Each of us was so nervous you could taste it. After a few hours of monotony, that faded.  
“Do you take your cat everywhere with you?” Seth asked Gabriel.  
“Yes.”  
“Wow, you’re lucky. Mom wouldn’t let us bring Charlie.” I could see the third woman from yesterday’s conversation look up—so that’s his mom. Her lips were pursed. “She said that he didn’t want to leave England.”  
“Is Charlie a cat? Or a dog?”  
“A beagle!”  
“I’m sure Charlie is having lots of fun in England now. I bet he’s made a bunch of doggy friends.”  
“Yeah, that’s what Dad says too. He’s over there.” Seth motioned to a corner Gabriel couldn’t see. One of the card players from yesterday waved his hand.  
“I’m Nick,” he said.  
“G—Ellen. Good to meet you. Though I wish it were under better circumstances.”  
Nick chuckled with no humor. “We all do.”  
I looked at them and couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous. What a happy family, all four of them. Alive and well, at least for the moment. How nice for them.

It was a long while into the trip. How many hours, I hadn’t a clue. It was stuffy and hot. Although it didn’t seem to be a problem for the others, the smell of people was getting difficult for me to bear.  
Seth and Julie’s mother made them quiet down, thankfully. They had played hand clap games until my ears felt they were about to fall off. They were both napping in the corner next to their father.  
The last little girl was awake. She hadn’t said anything, and didn’t sit near anyone. She stared at the wall, very still. I smelled sadness on her.  
Gabriel was speaking with the fourth woman softly, sharing stories. I was surprised at first, because although Gabriel is personable, he’s not open. But I realized it’s a tactic—to make sure Van will take in these people, we need to know their background. If that means talking a bit about himself, he can do that. Especially since it’s not really him talking.  
“I was supposed to go to Switzerland with my sister,” he said. “It was supposed to be quieter there. But she didn’t make it. I had to choose something else.”  
The sadness in his voice was real.  
The best lies can also be true.  
Ellen told me that once. The real Ellen.  
The woman nodded sympathetically. “It must be hard, traveling alone.”  
He shrugged. “I have this one,” he said, smoothing the fur on my head. “It’s enough.”  
The woman sighed. “The little one there is mine,” she explained. “But I’m not her mother, only her aunt. Her parents…couldn’t make it, either. I lost a sister too.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“Aren’t we all.” She fiddled with the ring on her pointer finger. “I need to do right by her. I never wanted children, but I’ll protect that girl to my death. She’s seen so much no child should ever have to.” She sighed.  
“She was there. She saw it all. She hasn’t spoken since Marie and her husband died.”  
Gabriel looked towards Rory, and then tiredly back to the woman. “War.”  
“War.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I got out of Gabriel’s lap and walked over to the little girl. She startled a little when I butted my head to her arm. Gabriel watched.  
“He doesn’t usually like new people,” he whispered to Rory’s aunt.  
“They have that in common,” she responded.  
She was stiff for a while as I rubbed my cheek against her. But then a cautious little hand scratched clumsily behind my ear, ran over my head. She wasn’t very coordinated, and sometimes flattened my ear accidentally and made it hard to hear for a while, but she was little. I didn’t mind.  
She petted me for a long time.  
I did mind when she hugged me, but I managed to control myself. I wasn’t about to scratch a kid. Especially not one so sad already.  
She continued petting my head in repetitive little pats. Obviously, it was meant to be more soothing for her than me. It was only when she squeezed me much too tight that I let out a little meow of protest, and she loosened her grip, but not much.  
She buried her face in my fur, and we sat like that for an even longer time. It must have been hard for her to breathe, after a while. But she was crying a bit, too, so that made it worse.  
Her aunt walked unsteadily over to her in the dim light and pulled her into her lap, stroking her hair. Rory still held me in her arms, still crying. Sometimes she’d pull herself together long enough to give me a few more pats on the head.  
“I want my mom,” she said in a watery little voice.  
“I know. I know, baby. I miss her too.”  
I wish I could say at least I made her feel better, but nothing can make it better for this little girl right now. Not for a while.  
I stayed next to her until it looked like she’d calmed down, and then I moved back to Gabriel. He was a bit hesitant to touch me, which I understood, because I was a bit hesitant to touch me—I’d essentially just been used as a furry, living tissue. He cleaned me off as best he could.  
“That was a good thing,” he whispered to me. “You did a good thing for her, love.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It stank in the van.  
The little ones had to use the bathroom. A few of the adults tried getting the driver’s attention by banging on the adjacent wall, but it was to no avail. Whoever it was either didn’t hear us, or didn’t care.  
For a while the adults stalled, distracting them. But they could only wait for so long.  
They used a bucket in the corner. Seth missed a bit. It dripped across the floor. They kept it covered with a tarp, but it still stank.  
We’d been in there for what felt like forever. Everything smelled like sweat and germs. I could practically see them floating around in the rancid, recycled and re-breathed air.  
The baby was awake, hungry, and inconsolable.  
I buried my head in Gabriel’s coat. Right on time, my migraine was starting up again. The potion was wearing off.  
Every jolt of the wheels felt like lightning. Every sob from the baby like nails on a chalkboard. Air so thick I had trouble breathing.

The truck rattled on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But, finally.  
What was that?  
The noise stopped.  
The truck parked.

A door slammed.  
I heard heavy footsteps outside. A man, I could smell.  
Everything was still. A dozen pairs of wide eyes looked around in the darkness. The smells of fear, anxiety, and excitement mixed.  
I heard the heavy metal of the door latch being moved, and heard the click of metal of a different kind.

I knew.

Deb. We weren’t going to Iowa.  
The door was unlocked.  
I saw daylight shining through the crack, marred by a shadow.  
I smelled hatred.

I smelled gunpowder.

We weren’t going to Iowa.


	11. Chapter 11

My fur stood on end. Gabriel saw and understood, pulling his gun swiftly out of his waistband and moving out of what may have been, in the next five seconds, the line of fire.  
There were little kids. There were little kids.  
He was. Deb. Just. What he was going to do.  
I couldn’t let him.  
I padded away from Gabriel, whose anxiety spiked. I was the only thing that moved in the artificial stillness. It was difficult not to be afraid, when all I could smell was fear. But I needed to stay calm.  
The man was right outside the door, ready to open it.  
“Mow?” I said, pushing a paw through the crack. I shifted my weight and moved the door enough for the opening to fit my frame—a small job, for a cat’s agility.  
I saw a man looking down in surprise and a gun pointed straight ahead, his hand moving towards the door, about to push it open wider.

Deb, Marcus killed so many people.  
And I have only ten Gifts?  
Yeah, alright.  
If that makes them sleep better.

 _“We’re not fighting anymore.”_  
_“Nathan, darling. For you, that has never been an option.”_

The gun melted in his hand.  
What used to be the trigger ran, liquid, down his fingers. The grip shifted in his hand. The barrel flopped over and bent forwards limply.  
He stared at it, eyes bulging in amazement. He didn’t have time to do anything else.  
_Fssst-ph!_ One bullet in his left shoulder. The man cried out.  
_Fssst-ph!_ Another in his right.  
_Bum-bum_ —two pounding footsteps on the van’s floor, and then Gabriel gave out a yell as he hurled himself out, tackling the man with the melted gun and useless arms. Weight-wise, Gabriel was about a third of his size. But the van was elevated above his opponent’s standing level, and he had momentum, anger, and two working arms.  
He tackled him to the ground and bashed his head into the earth. He took what was left of the guy’s gun and hit him across the face with it, hard.  
Blood ran down a gash on the man’s forehead. He moaned.  
Gabriel hit him again. And again.  
And then, finally, he lost consciousness.

Panting, he looked over to me. His hair was wild. His eyes, more so.  
“We’re going to need to bring this guy with us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“There’s a place we can go,” Gabriel told them. “I need to speak to the woman who owns the land, but as a temporary stay, it’ll work.”  
They were out of the van, all of them. As they walked out, the mother and father picked up their kids and covered their eyes. Rory’s aunt did the same for her. They walked around the vehicle until they were on the other side, away from the still and bleeding form, and held their children in their laps so they couldn’t wander or look behind them.  
The kids didn’t protest, so tense as they were. Julie had wet herself. Both she and her brother had tears on their faces, but it was Rory who managed to upset me the most.  
She looked scared, but composed. The kind of composed that only happens from repetition.  
She’s so little, Deb.  
All three kids—and a few of the adults—were looking at Gabriel with something between amazement and adoration. Some of the others looked wary of him. But all of them were letting him speak, and all of them were listening.  
Gabriel was all business. He seemed to be the only one with enough wits about him to plan anything, and so he continued with what we were going to try to do at the community in Iowa. If there even is one.  
I never got looked at quite like that after I fought. But then, my methods were always much more…graphic.  
The baby was still asleep from the potion, but the mother walked away, bouncing and rocking her anyway, obviously trying to calm herself more than anyone else. Trying to get away from the smell of blood and the stink of terror, trying to move to quell her own fear as well.  
“How do we know we can trust this woman?” asked one of the men. “After what’s happened here, with this?”  
Gabriel sighed. “We have to trust someone. And I have a history with her. We know each other. She won’t try anything.”  
“Why would she let us stay?” asked Seth’s mother, holding him rigidly.  
“She was one of the leaders of the Alliance,” he explained. “She more than anyone knows what the war has done. She fought hard for the fighting to be over—and from what she’s told me, she’s not going to stop until there’s finally some peace.”  
Nice words.  
I wonder if they’re true.

They argued for a while longer, but it was getting late. Nobody had eaten in over a day, except the baby and some snacks the kids had. Everyone needed to bathe, everyone needed to sleep, and everyone needed to feel safe again.  
Still in the same form, I made a cut to Van’s. I let them assume it was Gabriel’s Gift.  
They were astonished. None but Rory’s aunt even knew about cuts, let alone travelled through one. We both could tell they were very impressed.  
If only they knew the truth, eh?

Then came the matter of transporting the meat-sack of a human being still bleeding into the ground.  
Two hundred-odd pounds of dead weight is a lot to carry. Especially for people who haven’t eaten anything in sixteen hours.  
We walked around the back, just Gabriel and I, and I turned into an elk. He looked a little startled at first, to see that form, but his expression changed so fast I’m not sure if it was really there. I’ll have to ask him about that.  
Using some strips of fabric he tore off the furniture in the van, he lashed him onto my back, tying his arms behind him—as if he needed it. If he was awake, he would have been shrieking—a bullet in each shoulder doesn’t bode well for movement.  
The others were shocked to see me when we returned, Gabriel walking calmly next to me with a hand on my side. Seth scrutinized me curiously.  
“Is that your cat?”  
Gabriel said nothing and didn’t stop walking, but winked at him and put a finger to his lips.

I went through the cut first and waited on the other side for the rest to come through. It was dusk wherever we were, but at Van’s, the stars were out.  
I shivered as I felt warm blood drip down my sides.  
They came through two by two.  
Two of the men.  
The baby and their mother.  
Seth and his mom.  
Julie and her dad.  
Rory and her aunt.  
And, finally, the last woman and Gabriel.  
All the adults eyed me cautiously. Gabriel, they could explain. She's just an extraordinarily brave girl with a Gift for making cuts. Nothing too odd about that. The door hadn’t been open wide enough for them to see the gun bending. But me? An animal with the ability to shape-shift into other animals? That was bigger. That was too much. They didn’t like to think about it.  
I destroyed the cut after them, and we walked across the open acres of land until we found Van’s house.  
Nesbitt was standing in the doorway.  
He saw me right away. It’s hard not to. The antlers, you know. Oh, and, I suppose, the limp form strapped to my back was a bit hard to ignore. He knew who I was immediately, and because of that, he knew exactly who was standing so very close to me.  
“Gabby!” he exclaimed. Gabriel winced a bit at the use of his real name. A few of the adults stared, but others (many the same who had expressed skepticism before—cynical. That’s good. Cynicism bodes better for survival, on whole) looked like they expected it—sometimes it pays to have nobody know your name. “It’s been a while. Bring your friends in, Van will be down. You all look like you could use something to eat.”  
Shell-shocked by the recent events, the ten people filed into the plush living room without complaint, and sunk into the furniture. Nightsmoke streamed across the ceiling. Gabriel and Nesbitt stood in the doorway.  
“Where do we put him?” Gabriel asked.  
Nesbitt’s expression was, for once, serious. “There’s a basement. For now, that’ll do.”  
They untied him from me and carried him away, Nesbitt holding his arms, Gabriel holding his feet. They would really have to do something about those bullets—the wounds were still bleeding.  
Once freed of my burden, I shifted back into Salem. My fur was streaked with blood and matted, some of it dried, some of it still liquid. I padded in after them. Nesbitt, struggling a bit, looked at me with amusement.  
“If your aim was to be subtle, Nathan, the bloody paw-prints are a good touch,” Nesbitt told me. I looked behind me, and he was right. There was a trail of little splatters through the house.  
I stared at him as he waddled towards the stairway. I didn’t like how much taller he was than me, so I jumped onto the counter. He dropped the man with a loud thud, his head hitting the ground again. If he didn’t have a concussion before, he certainly had one now.  
“Wha—no, oh come on! I cook there! You’re getting blood on it.”  
Cats can’t laugh, but I wanted to.  
Gabriel sighed in exasperation. “Where is the bath?” he asked him.  
“Down the hall, to the right.”  
“Nathan, go wash off,” Gabriel said. “I’ll fetch you some clothes in a bit.”  
I was dismissed. For a long while, probably—I knew after they finished with the driver that Gabriel wanted to talk to Nesbitt in private. He knows I can’t take him seriously enough to be anything but detrimental in that sort of conversation.  
I took my time, strolling across the counter. Gabriel, un-amused, dropped his burden as well. He rolled his eyes and lifted me up, putting me on the ground. Leaning down, he paused for a moment and spoke to me quietly.  
“The gun. Was that you?” He looked very concerned.  
I nodded.  
He nodded back, looking preoccupied, and pushed me a bit towards the washroom. I didn’t want to, but I left. Only a little bitter.  
I needed to get the stink of blood out of my nostrils. It was soaking into my skin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I heard loud voices, but even with my good hearing, I couldn’t quite catch what they were saying. And I couldn’t leave that bathroom until I got every speck of blood off me.  
I hate the color pink.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gabriel brought me back some of my clothes. He’d used the emergency cut we made linking Van’s territory to ours, back when we first bought the cottage. My favorite pair of jeans and a soft sweatshirt.  
He changed into his normal clothes too, though he stayed in fake Ellen’s form, just in case we met any of the ten. They looked absurd on him, but he had an excuse. This wasn’t his house, after all. Nobody knew about the cut to our cottage but us and Van.  
She greeted me when I left the bathroom, almost an hour after I entered. “Good to see you’re feeling well, Nathan.”  
“My head hurts.” I didn’t mean it to be my response, but my vision was starting to go fuzzy, and my tongue felt too heavy in my mouth. Too much electricity.  
She handed me a vial, spirited from nowhere. “I had a feeling.”  
I uncorked it and tossed it back immediately.  
“I’d like you to do something for me.”  
I waited.  
“They need a place to stay. Actually, it is good there’s so few of them, for now. They can live inside until it’s finished.”  
“How do I come in?”  
“It would take such a painfully long time to build something. Especially when you can just grow it.”  
“So, what?” I thought back to one of my conversations with Aaran. “You actually want tree houses?”  
“As long as it has a roof, Nathan, I don’t care what you make. At least for now. Longer term will, of course, be more difficult—but longer term is not for a while. Of course you don’t have to start right now. But I’d like you to aim for tomorrow morning.”  
The ten, as of now, are sleeping in a few of Van’s spacious guest rooms. Gabriel and I have one to ourselves as well, if we want to stay here. And, for appearances, Van advised we did.  
At first I was surprised by her trust, until I spied the lock, confusion, and sleeping charms hidden around their rooms—she’d locked them into their bedrooms for the night and if they tried the door, they’d just get confused and go back to bed, suddenly much more tired.  
“Are those really necessary?” I asked her.  
“I see no point in taking unnecessary risks,” she said, walking slightly ahead of me. “I don’t know these people, and as of yet, they don’t know me. They could very well be willing to give me their allegiance—but Black Witches do have a reputation.”  
“When a society makes it difficult for people to make money the upstanding way, they have to find a different way to survive. I thought you were smart, Van.”  
“Oh, you’re correct, my dear Nathan. You would know all about that, I’m sure. But, as I’m sure you’re also well aware, bad habits are hard to break.”  
“Hm.”  
Gabriel was at my side, his hand on one of my shoulders. “Thanks, Van,” he said. “We’ll be in the room.”  
She nodded serenely to him. “Remember what we talked about.”  
“Wouldn’t dream of forgetting.” He steered me down the hall and into a room. The bed was huge, and nightsmoke was everywhere.  
The door closed, and he turned back into himself. I hadn’t realized I was still on edge until the relief of seeing him swept through me. My muscles seemed to relax on their own accord.  
“Do you think she’s put charms on this room too?” I asked him.  
“Probably,” he replied, seeming pretty unperturbed. “But then, it’s not like we can’t leave at any time anyway.”  
“Yeah, but the others can’t.”  
“They’re safe here, Nathan.”  
“But what if they want to leave?”  
“It’s only for one night. After that, in the morning, they’ll get a chance to talk to her.”  
“Hm.” I still didn’t like the lock charms. They reminded me too much of the cage. Or of the moving van. And I was still thinking about something else.  
“Are you ok?”  
“What did you and Van talk about?”  
“A lot of things. The refugees. Our job. You.”  
“You were shouting.”  
“Yeah.”  
I waited.

“You destroyed the gun.”

I waited.

“She told me when we did the potion that she wasn’t sure how many you had, but I thought once I was in the thick of it I would battle all your Gifts. But I never fought metal manipulation. And if there’s one other Gift that I didn’t fight, there could be others. Marcus killed so many people. He killed thirty in one year! He could have taken all their Gifts! And…and if there’s too many of them. And they…build up again. It’ll be like last time. But it can’t be like last time.” He shook his head, staring at his hands. “You…no, it _can’t_ be like last time.”  
“It’s only one Gift, Gabriel.”  
“But there could be more.”  
“Yes, there could be more.”  
Yes, there could be.  
Deb, I have a secret. But I’m not ready to talk about it, not yet. I have to think about it some more.  
But it’s there. And I know it. And I feel it.  
I just hope Gabriel can’t.

“It just can’t be like that again. It just can’t, Nathan, it can’t. You, no. No, no.”

The key was to get him to stop talking or else he’d go on a tangent that would lead him to all the terrible things he didn’t like to think about. Talking about it just got him thinking in a spiral that made him more and more upset.  
I couldn’t say anything to make him feel better. I tried.  
I said, “It’s only one Gift.”  
I said, “I’m completely in control. I remember everything I’ve done.”  
And I said, “I know what to do. I understand how Gifts work. I can figure them out faster.”  
And I said, “We’ve beaten a lot already. That’s more than we had before.”  
And I said, “Not now, okay? If it’s a problem later we’ll deal with it then. But it’s not a problem now.”  
And, “I love you.”  
And, “I’m sorry.”  
And  
“Don’t worry. Please, stop, don’t worry about it. Please.”  
And  
“Oh. Ohh no, don’t cry. Don’t cry…Shhhhhh…Gabriel. I love you. I love you.”

“Gabriel, love.”

“Shhhh.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a few hours later, and Gabriel had calmed down a bit. We were lying on the bed together.  
“You did a good thing, Nathan.”  
“Mm?”  
“I don’t just mean protecting them. I mean Rory.” He brushed a bit of my hair out of my face. His eyes were red. “You didn’t have to do that for her.”  
I shrugged. “She’s just little.”  
“I didn’t know you liked kids.”  
“I don’t.”  
He leaned on his elbow and stared at me, waiting.  
“But, it’s just…she’s just little. Like nine or ten. Eleven at most.”  
“And you want to take care of her because of that?”  
“She’s only a little kid. She doesn’t deserve this.”  
Gabriel scrutinized me for a few beats.  
“You’re psychoanalyzing me again.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Shameless.”  
“That too.” He kissed the top of my head.  
“Do you think the owner knew about it?”  
“I don’t know. Her Gift was strong. It was hard to tell.”  
“Yeah.”

“Do you think Scott knew?”  
“…I hope not, my love.”

“I won’t fall asleep tonight.”  
He shook his head. “Nobody will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really don't think Gabriel gets enough screen time being a badass


	12. Chapter 12

He makes me such a better person.  
During the war I was hard. It was necessary. I knew what I was doing, but it hadn’t fully registered, do you understand? The people I killed were nothing more than numbers. Little stones. To be counted and re-counted.  
And then after the war - when I started to realize. He was there, and he helped me through it. And I’m not all the way out but I’m farther than I would ever be without him.  
  
I don’t talk to many people, and I trust even fewer. But he showed me I could trust someone.

I don’t want to talk about it but I’m afraid for him.  
I’m afraid, but I can’t tell him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I made houses for the refugees. It took a day, and then a night, and then a day. Van is going to need to find something more efficient than myself later on.  
I manipulated what I could of the plants. Hedges and vines twisted together, just as first, so I could plan out what was feasible and what wasn’t. But plants like that are only temporary-they die and decay in cold weather, and because it was already getting colder, they hardly stood a chance. Really, there was only one thing I could do.  
I’ve talked about the trees before. They’re always difficult. But getting them to do this for me was nearly impossible.  
The woods near Van’s mansion are thick and wild. It was perfect for what I needed. So, early that morning, as the rising sun caught on drops of dew and frost, I sat among them and started a conversation.  
You see, the trees are different. They’re not like normal plants. They’re not easily controlled—they’re set in their ways. They’re so old, and yet so alive, they’re nearly sentient—although that would be going a bit far.  
Talking to the trees is different from talking to you. It’s more internal. There’s a definite dialogue, but it’s not in words. It’s slow. Slower than any animal. I had to change the way I thought entirely—if I thought something at them too quickly, what I wanted would slip away, and all my work until then lost.  
All of the connection is on a sub-language level, me and the trees. It’s emotive, nearly subconscious. All feeling, no words. It’s very freeing, actually. Once I understood how to communicate what I wanted. At first, I’d thought it was frustrating. But now I find it calming.  
It takes work. The trees are grounded in their ways. But with enough attention, constant coaxing, they can be persuaded.  
The first shelters I made looked armature at best. I wasn’t sure exactly what the best structure would be, and tried to twine two trees together. It failed as a house, giving little shelter, maybe six square inches of solid roof at best, the rest all branches. Then I tried something different.  
Instead of going outside in, I tried making the house from the inside out.  
I sat there a day, a night, and another day. I started early in the morning, while the sun was just a red streak on the horizon. When I finished, it was sinking beneath it, a dark orange.  
I think Gabriel came around a few times, but I was so focused on the trees, I paid him no mind. Nesbitt may have come too, I’m not sure. I couldn’t spare any attention—I had put too much work in to lose it.  
When I was finished, I had eight lodgings. Small, but big enough for about two or three adults each, if they didn’t mind closeness. Each was made of the hollowed out trunks of the biggest and oldest trees I could find—some a single one, some two trunks merged together. The height in each was tall enough to stand in without bending over.  
They were covered, sheltered from the elements. I rose some hedges to make a little bubble before each entrance as a form of protection, like a little door, but we would need to hang some blankets over the openings so the people inside didn’t get too cold at night. We would also have to bring in some electric heaters for that—no way any electricity would get through over here, not with people living literally inside the trees.  
I was exhausted and famished, but proud. I stretched my stiff legs, cracked and rolled out my joints, and got up slowly to return to the house. Gabriel was there, somehow. Like always. He offered me his coat, which I refused, and he made me put on anyway. He walked with me back.  
I had proof, right there in front of me, that I can do more than just destroy things. I can build them. I can actually make things, things that are worthwhile.  
It was a rare feeling, but a good one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I fucking hate my hand. I hate it, I hate it, I _hate_ it.  
Oh, god, I hate it so much.  
You never had to see it. Good. Don’t think about it.  
It’s not as bad as my back, don’t worry. But, even if my back is worse, at least I can hide it. Even when it’s cold, it’s not like I can keep gloves on forever.  
When I got back from the trees was the first time the ten saw me as a human. They still didn’t know I’d been Salem, or the elk, and that’s how I preferred it. I kept my hand in my pocket as I walked through the rooms, and was very aware that for the first time in a very long time I was around people who’d never seen me before.  
“Who is he?” I heard Nick ask Van.  
“The architect for your new lodgings,” she said. “Getting electricity to them might be a bit of a problem for the rest of us, but we’ll see what we can do.”  
I sat down next to Gabriel, who was still in fake Ellen’s form. He pushed a bowl of stew in front of me. I inhaled it without looking up.  
I could feel Seth looking at me. That kid stares too much.  
“Who are you?”  
“Nathan,” I grunted through a mouthful of food.  
“I’m Seth.”  
“Mph.”  
“What’s that weird thing on your neck?”  
“None of your damn business.” I’d forgotten to wear a scarf back. I had forgotten to bring one out with me in the forest—I hadn’t needed to hide my tattoos when I left, so early in the morning everyone else was asleep. I’ve been out of the habit, living with Gabriel. I need to start it up again. You don’t know about the tattoos, but that’s a story for a different day.  
“Hey,” Nick interjected. “Watch your language. He’s a kid.”  
I eyed him and found I had no patience—not that I ever have much to start with. I really did need sleep. “Is ‘damn’ really the worst thing he’s ever heard? Considering your situation?”  
Nick glared at me. Gabriel put a hand on my shoulder.  
“He’s sorry,” he said.  
“Mm,” I grunted.  
Seth stared. I glared back.  
“I bite,” I told him. He stepped warily away to his dad.  
Van and Gabriel told them a bit about their housing situation. I ran my hands through my hair and over my face, trying to stay awake.  
I heard a noise, and looked over. Seth was looking t me again, his eyes even wider.  
“What happened to your hand?” he blurted. “It’s all gross and stuff.”  
I scowled and stowed it away. “I asked too many stupid questions and someone tried to cut it off.”  
“Oh. Can I see it again?”  
“No. Go back to your dad. Leave me alone.”  
“But it’s so weird! Just once?” He reached out to yank on my sleeve. I jerked backwards and bared my teeth at him. I growled a bit.  
“I _bite_ ,” I repeated angrily. I stared at him until he backed away behind Nick, who was glaring at me.  
“You can’t talk to my son like that!”  
“If you don’t like it, tell him not to talk to strangers.”  
I realized Van had gotten quiet.  
I really hate kids.  
“Who’s that asshole?” I heard women number three—whose name I still didn’t know—whisper to the woman next to her. Gabriel heard her.  
He turned and gave her a smile, all teeth. “My boyfriend.”  
“A—oh.” She looked properly sheepish.  
So it seems I’ve made many friends with this group.  
“This is Nathan,” Van announced, staring me down. “He’s finished with his dinner, and he’s leaving now.”  
Remember when Gran used to send us to our rooms when we were acting bratty? This felt like that.  
I pushed the plate away from me with a clang and slunk away, sulking only a little.  
My people skills are rusty.  
There’s a joke there, see. Because I never had any to start.  
Ugh. I’m the worst.  
Gabriel tried to come after me, but I made a cut and slipped away. He got the message and didn’t follow. So now, I’m here. With you.  
Why is it that every time I feel like I do something right, something wrong seems to follow?  
I know it’s just a little thing, but it feels like the universe was reminding me that just because I did something good doesn’t make up for myself in general.  
Highs and lows, lows and highs.  
I just want my life to be still for one goddamn minute.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn’t want to go back to Van’s. Instead, I returned to the cottage. I threw myself on the mattress and buried my head in the blankets, exhausted but still too angry and self-pitying to sleep.  
I’m so fucking ugly. And I’m too stupid to even read.  
I don’t know what Gabriel sees.  
The blankets still smelled faintly like him.  
Maybe this has all been some sort of elaborate scheme. A potion or something. Accidental infatuation. And it’s going to wear off and he’s going to realize that he’s beautiful and that I’m hideous and horrible and mean and he never actually wanted to be with me. And then he’s going to come to his senses and get out because all I’ve done is make his life harder than it had to be, and I never appreciated him enough, and I was never nice enough or good enough and he’ll find someone else almost as beautiful as he is and they’ll both have a beautiful fucking life together without me. And I’ll be alone again. Like it’s supposed to be.  
That train of thought took over for much too long. A little grey storm cloud had appeared around my head, with tiny bolts of lightning occasionally shooting through it whenever I had a particularly bad thought.  
I heard leaves crunching underfoot and knew who it was. I burrowed deeper into the blankets and refused to look at him.  
I heard the door creak open and closed, heard the footsteps retreat. It was only a few seconds later that I heard them again, heavier this time. I heard fabric being pulled at and felt him sit down next to me. Felt the mattress shift as he leaned over to me. I tugged the pillows more solidly around my head.  
I felt his hand on my back. I moved away from him a bit, but it was halfhearted and he knew it. He climbed into the blankets behind me and wrapped himself around me. He pulled me into him.  
I was still angry and sad. And Gabriel being so nice to me just made me sadder.  
Fuck, I don’t deserve him. Not at all.  
That’s the only thing I could think.  
The storm cloud got a little bigger, a little darker.  
His hands followed my arms until they met my own. When his fingers brushed my scarred hand, I pulled it into myself, shielding it from him. But he shifted us a little so he could reach better, and he intertwined our fingers, his thumb running over the lumpy, melted skin in a little back-and-forth motion.  
I shook my head. He couldn’t reach my cheek, so he kissed my ear instead. It was odd and surprising and it made me smile a bit despite everything, like he knew it would.  
“You’re beautiful,” he told me. I shook my head, staring at our hands. His thin, elegant fingers. The shiny red streaks and mottled, lumpy ribbons dripping down the back of my hand. And my wrist…what a mess.  
“You’re beautiful,” he insisted, unlocking our hands and turning me gently around to face him.  
“You’re beautiful,” he said when he ran his fingers through my hair.  
“You’re beautiful,” he said between planting kisses on my face.  
“You’re beautiful,” he said when he pressed my hand between his own, and pressed his lips to it.  
“You’re so beautiful,” he said as he wore the crease away from between my eyebrows with the pad of his thumb.  
Every time he said it, the cloud dispersed a little more.  
“You’re so…fucking…sappy,” I mumbled at him.  
He laughed, delighted, and pulled me closer. He lightly ran his fingers over the tips of my ears, which felt hot.  
“You don’t have to be embarrassed, my love. It’s what you are.”  
“Ridiculous, is what you are.”  
He hummed contentedly and wiggled a bit until our bodies fit together better. “You’re so lovely.”  
The cloud was gone.  
With his arms around me, and the blankets and the soothing smell of him around us, I managed to forget what I’d been thinking of and slept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, uh. I’m gonna talk to Rose again. Sorry Deb.

 

Hi. It’s been a while.  
Sorry, about that. I’ve been, uh, working some things out.  
Alright, well, I suppose I should update you. Gabriel and I are working on relocating refugees with Van and Nesbitt. We caught a prisoner who might be able to tell us more about the situation. That, though, that was Nesbitt’s job. I was working on building them houses. Van was working on keeping them safe, controlled and informed, as much as she wanted them informed.  
I thought Gabriel was just helping her with that, and helping me. I guess he was helping Nesbitt too, which I still have to wrap my head around. I don’t know what they were doing in that basement, then, whether it was some good-cop-bad-cop routine or just straight up torture. That doesn’t seem quite his style. Gabriel’s one for bending the rules, but he’s not one for reveling in other people’s pain. But then Nesbitt doesn’t seem like he’d be up to doing that either, and obviously I misjudged him. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.  
So, it’s been a long while since Gabriel and I started being together. I mean what we are now—not just friends. Though of course as friends we’d been together a very long time, too. But so, uh, being together so long, you know. Couples tend to do things. You know.  
So we’d both had a stressful few days, and we were finally alone at the cottage again for the first time in what felt like forever but really, if I think about it, was only about a week.  
And, ah.  
Gabriel, well.  
I’m quiet. Usually. And I don’t mean just in my everyday activities.  
He takes it as a challenge.  
He’s loud. And that’s fine. Usually.  
But, ah, not when someone is searching for him because they have unfinished business with a certain prisoner.  
It was daytime. It’s winter now, and it’s been so cold it hasn’t snowed, so we were inside, on the couch, near the fireplace. When I heard him approaching the cottage, the two of us were a bit in the middle of something. I couldn’t quite smell who it was, but there’s only a few people who even know about the cut here, so I had a hunch.  
My mouth was a bit, ah, preoccupied. So I un-occupied it, to Gabriel’s dismay.  
“N- _o_ , why?” he complained.  
“Company coming.”  
He screwed his face and hit the cushions lightly, still not expending the energy to actually move himself. “Ughhh,” he whined angrily. “Why now?”  
I shrugged. There was a knock at the door.  
“No!” Gabriel called, reaching for his clothes.  
“Gabriel! I think we might have something!” Nesbitt’s voice was muffled by the wall.  
“I wish we still had nothing,” he muttered, re-buckling his belt. I grinned.  
“Gabby! Open the door!”  
“Stop shouting!” Gabriel pulled on his shirt and walked over. I sat cross-legged on the couch, unable to find what clothes I was looking for, and decided to go invisible instead.  
I get this niggling feeling they’re trying to keep me in the dark, Van and Nesbitt. Gabriel might be too, but they’re the ones I’m more worried about—I trust Gabriel more than anyone. If he’s trying to hide something, it means he’s trying to protect me. Which is endlessly irritating, for sure, but tolerable.  
I don’t trust the others, though. So I thought maybe Nesbitt would say something interesting if he thought I wasn’t there. Unfortunately for my sleuthing activities, Gabriel didn’t give him the chance.  
As Gabriel walked over to open the door, he wrapped a jacket that he plucked off the hook around his waist to hide a certain something. He opened the door halfway.  
“I’ll be there in half an hour,” he said quietly. From this angle, the only thing I could see of Nesbitt was a shadow.  
“The prisoner won’t be talking in half an hour.”  
“Then make him talk, or stall him. I don’t care.”  
“You owe a debt, Gabby.”  
“And I’m paying it more than in full. Torture was never part of the plan.”  
“Well, you know. All’s fair and all that.”  
“Yeah, I know. All’s fair. So go back to the cut, and I’ll see you in half an hour.” Gabriel shut the door.  
“I can pick locks!”  
“I could just freeze time,” I told Gabriel. “Nobody would know.”  
“I don’t want you to be stressed. You shouldn’t have to multitask.” He squinted at the indent I was making in the couch. “Turn visible again, this is weird. I don’t like it.”  
“I wouldn’t be stressed.” I still don’t turn visible.  
“No, but I would be.”  
I sighed and got up. “Gabriel, I’m going to have to use my Gifts at some point.” He worries a lot about this.  
He made a face and looked a little to the left of me, where he thought I was standing. I thought it was funny so I didn’t change back. And he not being able to see me helped me say it. Like I wouldn’t have to deal with disappointing him if I kept up this stupid game of convoluted hide-and-seek. “I’m stronger now. You helped me—you know. I can use them.”  
He looked doubtful.  
“Gabriel. I’m stronger than this thing.” He jumped when I cupped his cheek with one hand and gave him a kiss on the other side of his face.  
He held himself stiffly and carefully, at a loss of where to move. “I’d like to see you now.”  
I laughed a little to see his expression—a little exasperated and a little perplexed, one I get so often from him—and let the Gift go. He jumped again. “Nathan!”  
I grinned.  
“Stop laughing, it’s not funny.”  
“It’s very funny. You’re usually always so self-assured.”  
“Is that what you think?”  
“That’s what I know.”  
“I’m self-assured because I know you. I know you better than I know myself.”  
“Well, that shouldn’t be true.”  
“But it is.”  
“Then how about we get to know you a little better, huh?”

He didn’t make it back to Van’s house on time, but neither of us cared.  
I know Nesbitt can pick locks, but I have a feeling he knew that he didn’t want to interrupt us. Plus, I made vines jam the tumblers after Gabriel shut it. Just in case.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took me a really long while to get out of my own head enough to be able to do this sort of thing with Gabriel.  
You know, I miss you and all, but sometimes I’m really glad you don’t talk back. Because I know if you were really here right now you’d giggle, or say something stupid, and I would get angry and just wouldn’t end up saying anything.  
But, I want to talk about Gabriel. And he’s about the only one I really talk to, besides you, Arran, and Deb. And I can’t talk to him about himself. And I can’t talk to my siblings about this. So, here we are.  
When everything was still new I had so many doubts. And even now, sometimes. He’s just so much that I never expected to be lucky enough to have. He’s brave and loyal and kind even when everything else is shit, even when I’m shit. And when he says he loves me I know he means it, and god he’s beautiful. It hurts sometimes how beautiful he is.  
I never really considered what I looked like all that much outside of my resemblance to Marcus until I started trying to find what he saw. I’ve been trying, still, but when I look at him it’s like I see the sun, and when I look at myself all I can see is the weird, misshapen spots that appear afterwards.  
I remember in particular one of those nights, towards the beginning. It still wasn’t his birthday—that’s a different story—but it was a few weeks before it.  
I really didn’t think this would be such a problem for me. Because after all, I’d had sex with Annalise. But with her, I was sure I knew what she would do, how she would react. But I was so certain only because the imaginary Annalise I had made up so thoroughly covered the real one. She couldn’t possibly have thought I was disgusting, or stopped, or left me, because that was something Imaginary Annalise would never do.  
I did so many stupid things because I could only see her as an extension of my desires, and not as an individual. I’ve thought through this a lot—I don’t want it to happen again. Obviously.  
So, this time was different. It had to be different. Because I had to know not just what I wanted, but what he wanted. And I had to be certain what I thought he wanted and what he actually wanted were the same thing. Just, because, I don’t know. It all gets convoluted when I try to explain it.  
Well, I fucked everything up by thinking too much, which is something I never thought I’d say.  
We had been lying in the woods, back when it was warm enough (oh, I miss the warmth!). And it was calm, but then it changed a bit. And we were kissing, and I liked that. But every time he moved his hands I felt a jolt of electricity, and it wasn’t the good kind that makes your breath stutter and your eyes close, but the kind that makes you freeze. I was hyper-aware of everything he said and did, every little motion and every little breath.  
“Are you okay?” He left a little space in between our lips to ask me.  
“Mm-hm.”  
“You’re tense.”  
“I’m fine.” He shot me a skeptical look. “I am! It’s fine.” I kissed him to prove it.  
We continued for a while, but he was withdrawing bit by bit. He knew I was trying to prove something that wasn’t real. He found proof of what I was hiding when his fingers skimmed the hem of my shirt and under, his hand sliding from my stomach to the skin of my back. I didn’t have time to stop myself from arching away from his touch, sending my forehead crashing into his chin.  
“Ow,” I muttered, embarrassed. He just looked concerned.  
“Sorry—I’m sorry,” he said hurriedly, his brow a little furrowed. He leaned away from me, sitting back on his heels, and folded his hands in his lap like otherwise they’d try to escape. “Nathan, if you’re uncomfortable, we won’t do anything, alright? It’s okay if you don’t want anything right now. Or ever. That’s okay too, I promise.”  
“No, I…” I scowled. It was hard for me. Because I did want to. And logically, I knew what I was doing was stupid. He’d already seen my scars so many times. He’d hugged me after I turned from wolf back into me. He knew they were there. It’s not like I was lying to him by not telling him about them directly.  
But, they’re just so ugly. They’re so hateful and ugly. They’re worse than my wrist. My wrist is bad, but it’s the sort of thing anyone could have. It doesn’t have the same intention behind it. The scars on my wrist show that I’ve fought, and I’ve survived. The ones on my back just…show I’m a victim.  
Victims are pitied. And, above all, I can’t have Gabriel pitying me. That’s, no, that’s just too horrible. So I didn’t want him to touch them, even though I knew he already had. Because what if he did and then decided he’d been wrong? Now that whatever fucked up game I’d accidentally played with him while trying to figure myself out was over, and he realized he had me, I was afraid he wouldn’t still want me if it still included all the worst parts of me. And those, unlike some people, were too visible for me to hide.  
“Nathan, it’s okay. You can tell me whatever you want and it’s okay. Even if you just want me to leave.” He leaned in a little towards me, but I don’t think he did it on purpose. He kept his hands firmly on his lap. So damn respectful. So fucking kind. It made me so frustrated, because he didn’t deserve to have to deal with all the invisible shit I was carrying with me.  
I sighed and pressed my eyes with the heels of my hands, mostly so I wouldn’t have to look at his stupid beautiful sad face with his stupid eyes watching me so carefully and his dumb hands that I wished would hold me but which I didn’t want to touch me at the same time. He made me so conflicted.  
“I…just…Fuck. Just…hold me. Please.”  
I think hearing me say “please”, more than my request, is what gave him pause. It was only a fraction of a second, but his mouth made a little “O” before his lips pursed, and his expression softened.  
His hands fluttered around me and pressed my face gently into his shoulder, his fingers working slowly in my hair. He pressed one of his hands into my upper back, over my shirt, and rubbed in calming circles. It made me feel a little better almost immediately.  
“Is this okay?”  
“Yeah.”

“…Is it okay for you?”  
“Of course it is, my love.”

 

Once it was his birthday we went a bit further. I talked to Deb a lot about that day, and I know I talked about it to you, too. And I do remember that I left quite a bit out. But that bit was mostly me being ridiculous, so whatever you imagined probably wasn’t it.  
I’d been anxious all day, and yeah the majority of that was because I wanted him to like the gift I made him. But I felt, I don’t know. He’s so important, and he’s given up so much for me. I just wanted to make the day about him. And we did make it farther than we’d gone before. I managed to show him my scars. And afterwards seeing his face was such a relief, void of the disgust or reluctance or pity I feared would be there. In its place was something intense, a sort of expression that’s both hard and soft at once. And he touched me with so much care it was almost as though he was trying to heal them away for me.  
I was overwhelmingly happy and I adored the feeling of his hands, but after the feeling washed over me, I felt just so incredibly drained. The entire day I’d spent in a state of nervousness. And as much as I wanted to make him happy, and as much as I loved him and what he was doing right then, the thought of doing anything more made me jittery and apprehensive for reasons that were difficult to explain. It certainly wasn’t because of anything Gabriel did.  
The two kindest people I ever met before him were my siblings, and I never thought I’d get to meet anyone else who met their standard—at least towards me. But Gabriel’s always been so incredibly patient and understanding. Now, he is absolutely the one who knows me best. I never expected anything like that. I never expected anyone else to want that.  
“It’s okay, it doesn’t have to be tonight.”  
“…I’m so—”  
“Shh, don’t apologize. Tonight was perfect.”  
“But you…don’t you…”  
“I would like to do more, yes. But only when you’re ready.”  
“…I’m such a—” Gabriel stopped me with a raised finger.  
“Before you insult yourself, remember it is my birthday, and remember you are my favorite person.”  
“Hmph.”  
“Let me complete your sentence for you,” he offered, putting his weight on his elbows and holding himself over me. His hair fell towards the ground around our faces, and all I could see were his eyes, dark and sweet like honey. “You’re such a—brave, sensitive, admirable person, who has gone through far too much for far too long. And you’re even more courageous now than you were before, because after surviving a lot hate from strangers you were hurt very badly by someone you had managed to love and trust, and yet you’re trying again. And it’s only natural, after suffering so much, that you don’t want to expose yourself to that kind of pain again. So even though I can assure you that nothing can ever make me leave you, and even though you want to believe it, it’s difficult. It’s difficult because everything you’ve learned is telling you not to do this. And yet you’re trying anyway. Because you’re such a …caring …determined …amazing person, who has somehow still found the ability to love despite all that you’ve suffered.” He kissed my forehead. “That is what you are.”

 

It was a couple of weeks later that we had sex. It was a lazy afternoon, and I was fed up with myself and I had a mind to do something—and an idea for how to achieve it. I just needed to make myself forget about myself. And I normally do that two ways. Running away obviously wasn’t an option. So that left me with just my art.  
It worked because drawing always relaxes me. I know for some people it’s very hard, but as long as I don’t get caught up in the details or stuck in the middle, the image usually just shows itself. It’s easier, too, because I only try to draw what I know. Being so still with something for so long helps me get to know it better. The woods. The cottage. Gabriel. The animals. Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel.  
I’m pretty good at drawing Gabriel, did you know?  
So that day instead of my sketchpad, I decided to use him as my canvas.  
I like that memory, Rose. I think I’ll keep it to myself.

Thanks for listening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think I should tell you about that secret now.  
When it happened, Gabriel just thought it was a particularly bad nightmare.  
But it wasn’t one. I mean, what happened was like a nightmare I’ve had before. But it felt different. I never even remember falling asleep.  
I’m certain it wasn’t a dream.

I…  
I watched him die.

Deb.

 

I-I can’t lose him.

 

I never fell asleep, and I watched him die.  
One second he was breathing steadily on the mattress next to me. He had all the blankets, of course. His hand was splayed on my chest, sleeping soundly.  
And then we were in an alley, surrounded by concrete. We were facing the end of it, leading to the outside. In the plaza we were walking towards, there was the statue of an angel in white marble, pointing to the sky in determination, wavy hair blowing in a false wind.  
Then Gabriel fell.  
There was blood on his lips. His eyes weren’t focused. He was on the ground, twitching.  
He was on the ground, and his hair was in his face, and there was blood and foam on his lips, and his eyes were unfocused and he was hurt but I couldn’t see where and he wasn’t breathing and I was running but I couldn’t reach him and he was dying and I was screaming because oh, no, no…  
Someone was yelling. It jolted me out of the vision.  
It was me.  
It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a dream.  
It felt so much different.  
“Nonononononononono…”  
I grabbed at him. I knew I was holding too tight and hurting him but I couldn’t let him go.  
“Nonono _nono Gabriel_ …” I was shaking and screaming and crying. I felt totally out of control. The plants were bending and twisting around us. The wind was howling to match my voice. The animals in the woods were stirring.  
“Shhh, Nathan. Nathan, I’m here. I’m here. It’s ok. It was a nightmare. Nathan. Just a nightmare.”  
“No…”

It wasn’t a nightmare, Deb.

 

I only know one thing.

When he dies, everything good, everything bad, the whole world—it’s going to die with him. Without him, nothing matters.  
I will make the world fall down.

I will destroy everything.

And I’ll make sure everyone knows why.


	13. Chapter 13

The prisoner has seen much better days.  
The left side of his face is swollen and purple from where Gabriel went all-out. There’s a gash above his eye and one on his lower lip. All are bandaged. His wrists and feet are tied tightly, but not tight enough to hurt. I would know. He looks like he’s been treated humanely—I can’t see any injuries that look fresh, at least, and I can see bowls used for food and water in the corner—so there’s not a reason for him to look so crazed, with wide bloodshot eyes, sparse hair plastered to his head with sweat, his neck and cheeks blotchy red, his breathing heavy and unsteady.  
I’d asked Van how she knew it was safe to keep him in the basement. After all, we can’t be sure what kind of Gift he has—when he was still unconscious I’d taken a look at his eyes, spinning in silver. She said a while back she’d invented a potion to test the strength of a person’s Gift. It’s a clear potion, looks a lot like water—but she warned me it’d be best not to drink it. Sprinkle a bit on someone’s skin and it changes color depending on how strong a Gift they have. His had been a dark blue, which, she said, was a good thing for us. Very weak. Probably remedial potions.  
She let me take a look at that one, actually. I’d dabbed a bit on Gabriel. It turned sunny yellow. Brighter colors were better for the bearer, Van explained. Meant the Gift was more powerful.  
I dropped a bit on myself, to see what would happen. First, it went black. Then fire-engine red. Then a neon sort of green one only finds in soda. Then a really unnecessarily aggressive shade of purple. Sunset orange. Soft pink. It kept changing. It was very mesmerizing, actually. I stared at it for about ten minutes straight before finally washing it off.  
Knowing Van, it didn’t take a huge leap to understand that the state this guy was in was probably also due to a different potion. From the way his nostrils were flaring and his eyes twitching, I think he’d been hallucinating.  
Gabriel was there to confuse him further. That had been his job. He would turn into the head woman from the shelter just before he entered, and coax him to tell him—anything, really. That’s what he was doing then.  
I wasn’t supposed to be there.  
“This is different from the others,” Gabriel stated, sitting on his heels across from the man. He nodded. Gabriel waited.  
If you wait long enough, someone always talks.  
“They fought,” he panted. “They don’t fight. They never know enough to fight.”  
“How many others, do you think?”  
“How are you real?”  
“Am I?”  
The man groaned. Gabriel waited, staring at him.  
One ragged breath.  
Another.  
Another.  
“They need to know.”  
“That you’re here?”  
“Where is here?”  
“You know I don’t know that.”  
“I know. I don’t know.”  
Another breath.  
Another.  
“They must have found shelter. They must have…somewhere…they must have friends. Allies.”  
Gabriel waited.  
“The others need to know. They have allies. So we have enemies. We never had enemies.”  
“Why is that?”  
“We were doing everyone else a favor.”  
I shivered. Mass killings, a favor. Half of them children.  
War.  
What war makes of people, Deb.

I stayed in the basement, invisible, after Gabriel left. The light was off, but once my eyes adjusted I could see well enough.  
The prisoner was mumbling something to himself.  
That’s what Nesbitt called a breakthrough?  
I turned into Salem and sat in front of him.  
“Cat,” he muttered. “Shit, the cat.”  
He saw me. Good. Then he could see what would come next.  
I turned into a leopard.  
His breathing became more ragged.  
Did you know Marcus would turn into a big cat before he ate people?  
It crossed my mind as I bared my teeth. But then I would have to taste him.  
I could smell his rancid fearful sweat.  
No, I wouldn’t eat him. Instead, I turned into a cobra and slithered towards him.  
He whimpered.  
What a disgusting human being.  
Right before I touched his leg, I turned into a scorpion, large and black. I crawled up his knee. To his torso.  
I could feel him shaking, so I took my time.  
Once I reached his shoulder was when he pissed himself.  
How bold. How brave. What a hero. But he seemed so tense, and I’m such a forgiving person. To comfort him, I stretched to caress his cheek. To get a better reach, I turned into a tarantula.  
It was then he started shrieking.  
Be afraid of me.  
Be very afraid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn’t kill him, but I wanted to.  
The only thing that saved his life was the information which we don’t know. But we’ll know it soon enough. And after that, we’ll have a loose end.  
Cats do love to play with string.

I’m not as good as Gabriel thinks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I went to the trees. As the architect, Van has also made me the official one to complain to.  
None of them were quite eager to strike up a conversation with me, which was fine. Although Nick did have one complaint.  
“Where’s the electricity?”  
“I don’t do that stuff.”  
“Who does?”  
“Van.”  
“All we have are battery-powered heaters.”  
“Then talk to Van. That’s not up to me.”  
Really, she’s got us roped into this, but I don’t know what she’s doing. In theory, yeah, sure, this makes sense. Save the refugees, get power, whooo, but they still need a place to live. They can’t live in goddamn trees. What is she planning, to make an apartment building on her property? And pay for all of them to live there?  
“The kids are scared of the dark.”  
“Look, this is a temporary housing situation. You’re not going to be living in the forest forever. Talk to Van. Get flashlights. I’m sure she’s contacting everyone she can to find you and your family a place to live. And, you know, you could do the same.”  
Yeah, condescension. Not my best move.  
He looked at me with raised eyebrows. “I don’t have a phone,” he said. “I don’t have a computer. You know why? It’s because White Witches raided my house in the middle of the night, trying to _kill me_ , and I had to flee with my kids in my arms, terrified, to anywhere else!” Somewhere along the line, he started yelling.  
I gritted my teeth. It was the only way I kept my voice level. “And you think you’re special?”  
“They took everything I owned!” he screamed.  
“They took my sister!” I roared. “They took my parents!”  
It was very quiet in the forest after that. The kind of silence after a big storm.  
I could hear my breathing in my ears.  
Nick opened his mouth to say something.  
“Shut the fuck up,” I spat, turning away.  
I walked deeper into the forest to sulk, and grew the roots to make sure nobody followed me.

Gabriel told me once I reminded him a bit of Michele. But more moody. And a little meaner. I think he meant it as a compliment.  
Deb, I thought I was doing lot better, but now being with people again I think maybe I’m not doing better, I’m just better suited to the company I’ve been keeping. Meaning two real people and two ghosts. Sometimes a third real person named Ellen. So, all in all, a literal handful of people.  
But, maybe I’m not so bad. I mean Rory did come after me. But I think that little girl’s a bit exceptional.  
I heard her little footsteps crunching down on all the twigs and leaves a mile away. I didn’t want her—or anyone—to find me just then, but I also didn’t want her to hurt herself on all the thorn bushes I’d grown, so I made them recede just enough for her to walk. She appeared a few seconds later. I was sitting on the lowest branch of a tree, and there was just enough clear space in the shrubbery to get a good foothold and push off, for me anyway. She was so short it would take more effort.  
I sighed. “Do you want to come up here?”  
She nodded. I sighed again, but got down and helped her up before reclaiming my spot.  
She swung her legs in the air and looked out through the forest.  
“They took my parents too,” she said quietly.  
I nodded.  
“I know how it feels.”  
“I know you do, kid.”  
She looked miserable.  
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Her poofy hair tickled my cheek.  
“You’ll get through it.”

“Are you really Ellen’s boyfriend?”  
I smiled. “Yeah, I am.”  
“I’m never going to have a boyfriend.”  
“Why?”  
“Boys are gross.”  
I nodded seriously. “Duly noted.”  
“You’re not really a boy, though.”  
“Why not?”  
“You’re too old.”  
“Can you guess how old I am?”  
“Are you fifteen?”  
“No, higher.”  
“Forty-five?”  
I laughed. “That’s a thirty year difference! Do I look forty-five?”  
“I don’t know what forty-five looks like!”  
“I guess you wouldn’t,” I admitted. “Try a lot lower.”  
“Are you thirty-five?”  
“Lower.”  
“Twenty-five?”  
“Lower.”  
“Are you twenty?”  
“Teeny bit lower.”  
“Nineteen?”  
“A little bit more.”  
“Eighteen!”  
“Yes!”  
“Ah, I win.”  
“Were we having a competition?”  
“No, but I win anyway.”  
“Alright.”

“Did someone really try to cut off your hand?”  
“Sort of.”  
“Was it because you asked too many questions?”  
“No, it wasn’t because of that.”  
“Was it because you’re a Black Witch?”  
“It was because I’m not a White Witch.”  
“And you’re not a Fain.”  
“No, I’m not a Fain.”  
“Are you a Half-Blood?”  
“No, I'm not a Half-Blood.”  
“Your Gift is plants?”  
“Yes.”  
“Can you show me some more?”  
I made a vine slither down my arm like a snake, and a little flower bloomed at the tip. I gave it to her.  
“Oh, it’s pretty.” She thought for a minute. “Could you please make a pink one?”  
“Sure, kid.” I made her a pink one.  
“Could you please put it in my hair?”  
I tucked it in her hair, behind her ear.  
“Thank you.”  
“You’re welcome.”  
“What’s your name again?”  
“Nathan.”  
“Okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Gabriel,” I said later that night, as we were eating dinner at the cottage. “I can’t be with you anymore.”  
He paused, fork halfway to his mouth, eyebrows raised. “Why not?”  
“Rory informed me today that boys are, in fact, gross.”  
“I never knew I was gross.”  
“Well, you are.”  
“Does that mean you’re gross too?”  
“No, I don’t count as a boy. I’m forty-five, apparently.”  
“Wow, I’ve been deluded my whole life.”  
“Now is as good a time as any to embrace the truth.”  
“I’m so enlightened,” he grinned, shaking his head. “Thanks so much.”  
“My pleasure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Van was proud of herself. The prisoner had finally agreed to talk.  
She didn’t need to know it only happened because of me. Once a day for the past few. I’d been getting creative.  
You wanna know something scary, Deb?  
I kind of enjoyed it.

He’s part of an organization.  
He’s one of the drivers, obviously. There are others who do different things. He doesn’t know many of the higher-ups. I suppose it was too much to expect otherwise.  
This looks a lot like what one of Van’s contacts does. I met her before. Trafficking.  
He explained what he does.  
Women would go for the most, but they’re difficult to catch. You can’t be sure what kind of a Gift they have, so he says its protocol to kill them, just in case.  
Men are bad too. They tend to fight. So, do the same.  
Girls are usually easiest to sell, but they’ll take boys too.  
He drives them to a place where they’re held by people he doesn’t know. Then they’re shipped somewhere else, presumably, to be sold. And then…they’re lost.  
And the good thing about this organization is, it’s endless money. Renewable customers. Because a few years after they buy one, they’ll need another. A new model. One that didn’t go insane, being unable to find family to give them their Gifts. Kept in captivity until they died.  
If the situation was a little different, I could very well have been one of those people. Trapped in a cage until I went crazy and killed myself just to make it end.  
Because, of course, they’re not really people. They’re just alive. They’re just unfortunate. Not like the rest of us.  
And I thought I couldn’t hate him anymore.

He told us where he drives them. All he knew was an address and the people who pay him. He gets paid well.  
Gabriel and I are going exploring tomorrow.  
But first, what to do about a useless prisoner.  
Van conferred with the three of us.  
“Kill him,” I said, without hesitation.  
Gabriel eyed me before turning to Van. “Is there really any other option?”  
“There are a few experimental memory potions—but nobody, as of yet, has found anything that works as specifically as we need it. I could try to make one, but it would wipe his entire memory, not just his memories of this specifically. And that would make him a liability we can’t afford.”  
Gabriel nodded pensively. “Then…kill him. If you don’t think the potion would work.”  
“Shame to kill someone in cold blood,” Nesbitt said.  
“Like he did to upwards of a hundred people,” I retorted.  
“Point taken.”  
“So?” Van asked.  
He sighed. “I’m with the other two.”  
She nodded. “I’ll get a poison ready. Gabriel, get the ten out of here and back into their homes. We’re going to need to get him out of there once this is done.”

She mixed it in his food. She had tried to brew one of the least messy possible, speaking of death. But, of course, a dead body is always a messy situation.  
Nobody went in the basement for a long time. Then, Nesbitt went down to check.  
He was still alive.  
His food was untouched.  
He might have been vile, but he wasn’t entirely stupid.  
“No more games, then.”  
Nesbitt shot him through the head.

He fell gracelessly. Like I’d imagined.

Cleanup took a long time. He was a lot of dead weight. And there were brains on the back wall.  
I burned his body deep in the forest, away from the ten. I controlled the fire so it was hot and white and didn’t spread.  
After that, all that was left were ashes.

Tomorrow, we’ll see about where he drove them all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

Uh, Deb?

This is strange, but Gabriel told me Nathan would appreciate it.

 

It’s me. It’s, um, Arran.  
We still haven’t found Nathan yet.  
It’s been three days.

Three days.

Do you remember last time?  
682.  
682 were how many days it took me to see him again. For you, it was never again.  
I have the date they took him away seared in my memory. August 3rd. I’ll remember that day forever.  
I’d wake up, and every day, I’d remember the number. I’d remember how much farther away we were.  
The first months were the hardest, when I was always expecting him to come back. Every time the door shut, every time the wall creaked, every time something scratched the window, his name was on the tip of my tongue.  
I was supposed to protect him, and now I’ve failed again.  
Who’s ever heard of a third chance?

 

682 days.  
These three feel so much harder than I remember.


	14. Chapter 14

This is what Gabriel told me:

They were on a simple information-gathering mission, one they’d done before. They’d been walking down a street, Gabriel in disguise as someone else, Nathan as a dog. Nathan saw something he didn’t like and he panicked. He made a cut and dragged Gabriel through it before he could ask what was wrong.  
The cut led to their cottage. There, Nathan had a panic attack. Gabriel tried to calm him down, but after he’d come down enough to function he was different. Shifty. Jittery. Unfocused. He wouldn’t listen to anything Gabriel asked him and when he did respond, it was in riddles. “It’s a bad place,” he would say. “It’s the angel. There’s death in the alleys.”  
“What _angel_?” Gabriel asked over and over. But he never listened.  
“You can’t go back,” he repeated to himself. “You, no, you can’t go back.” He was working himself back up again, so Gabriel tried to help him, but that just made him more agitated.  
He held Gabriel’s arms, his own locked and tense. “You can’t go back,” he told him, staring him down. “You can’t go back.”  
“Nathan, calm down. Could you do that for me, love? I need you to calm down so we can talk about what’s wrong.”  
“There’s death there.” His eyes were wide and he was trembling, his head shaking back and forth. “Everything’ll die.”  
“I don’t understand.”  
He nodded, quick and jerky. “Good. Good, you can’t.”  
“Nathan—”  
“Nightsmoke. Nightsmoke, we have extra.”  
“Nathan, stop. You need to stop.”  
“You can’t leave, okay?”  
“What? No, not okay.”  
“No, you can’t leave!”  
“Nathan, what the hell is going on?”  
He took deep, gasping breaths, the adrenaline pumping through him like he’d just run miles. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I love you, but you can’t leave. I love you. I’m sorry.”  
“Nathan—” he kissed him on the cheek, and then he was gone.  
Gabriel searched for the cut he’d taken but it was already destroyed.  
He tried the door.  
It wouldn’t budge.

I found him there a day later, after I got a frantic call from Nesbitt. He said the two of them had disappeared in the middle of a mission, and to check the cottage, just in case they were there.  
_Cottage_ isn’t even the right word for it anymore. I only knew it was even a house because I’ve traveled there so often.  
Thorn bushes more than seven feet tall followed the walls, stuck to them like sentries. Ivy crawled across the windows. The chimney was taken over by greenery. And the front door was blocked by a massive oak tree whose roots stretched from one end of the structure to the other, wrapping around it like an octopus to a sinking ship.  
“Nathan?” I called. “Gabriel?”  
Nothing.  
“Nathan?”  
“Arran?” It was Gabriel, behind one of the windows. His voice was hoarse and painful. He told me afterwards it was because he’d been screaming and yelling nearly all that day and the night before. For someone to hear him, and to let go of his rage and indignation and worry.  
I could only just see the shadow of his face and his hand pressed to the glass. “Arran! Get me out!”  
“How?”  
“If I knew _that_ I wouldn’t still be here.”

I tried pulling at the plants and then I tried cutting them, but every time I did, they just grew back stronger. Eventually I ended up taking the cut to Van’s place. She had some acid handy which she uses for some of her more malignant potions, because she’s a frightening human being. That ate through the plants well enough.  
Gabriel is staying at Van’s. He doesn’t want to go back to the cottage, not after Nathan trapped him in there. He’s furious but also out of his mind with worry. He hasn’t been eating. He hasn’t been sleeping. He’s stopped disguising himself as the girl in front of the others—most of them understand now that they were one in the same. The ones who don’t should learn to be more attentive.  
He’s been listless and restless and a lot of other words that end with “less”—fitting, considering that there’s less of everything now that Nathan’s not here. I haven’t been much better, though. Not much better at all.  
Gabriel knew that Nathan had visions. He told Gabriel he had one before the war ended, so now that his other Gifts have aired themselves, it makes sense this one would return. Gabriel’s been reliving every memory he has, trying to find a clue of what Nathan meant during their brief and crazed conversation. The only other time he seemed as distraught was after a nightmare, but he says that that night Nathan hadn’t said anything very useful.  
So, we wait.  
And wait.  
And wait.

You can see the anxiety in the air. The artificial stillness of it would make you choke.

And I thought I’d seen the end of this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Four days.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Five days.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gabriel has been scouting out the area alone now. Now, he’s not looking for clues about the refugees. Now he’s looking for Nathan.  
He’s not allowed to leave without a tracker. A normal fain one—technology can be useful, even for powerful witches. And now that Nathan’s not with him, we can use it.  
So far, he’s found nothing.

 

 

Six days, and I’m starting to unravel.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Gabriel is gone.  
His tracker was disabled where he disappeared, a few miles away from where the cut Nathan made a week ago led.

 

What can I do?

 

Deb, I need help. Everything is going to shit.

What can I do?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m not a soldier.  
I’m not brave, either. Not like Nathan or Gabriel or you.  
I’ve always done what I was supposed to.  
I’ve always followed all the rules.  
The only family I have left now, the only family I’m sure is still alive, is Jessica. And I decided a long time ago she couldn’t be my family.  
What cruel irony, am I right?

I hate fighting. I _can’t_ fight.  
So instead, like always, I let my baby brother do everything.

To my credit, I did try to talk him out of it. But I should have tried harder.  
He said he had no other choice. But there’s always a choice. Even if it meant leaving the cottage and cutting off contact from everyone they knew for a while, they had a choice. They could have done it easy, with their Gifts. But they didn’t want to lose everything. And now they might be lost because of it.  
I should have tried harder to convince him. But I didn’t want him to leave, either.  
If he left, he might have been safe, but I wouldn’t have been able to reach him. Again.  
I was so blinded by the thought of temporarily losing him that now he might be lost forever.  
I should have tried harder, but I’m not brave. I couldn’t stand losing him twice.  
I don’t know what to do now.

I don’t know what to do now.

I have to find them, or I’ll have no one left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the seventh day, they came back.

They appeared through the cut holding each other up, and this time, I was the first to see them. They looked painfully worse for wear, the two of them.  
As I reached them Nathan croaked, in a hoarse voice, “The others.”  
“What?”  
He motioned to the cut.  
“They’re coming.”  
There were sixty in all. All of them too skinny, all of them haggard. Most of them younger than seventeen. Some could stand—others couldn’t. I told those who could to help their fellows as they got through the cut. The only ones who seemed injured were Gabriel and Nathan, and I ordered three adults from the ten near me to help carry them inside with the kind of authority I only feel when in the hospital.  
Two of them helped Gabriel. One other had come over, Aiden was his name, but he stopped before he touched Nathan, his eyes flicking from his exhausted face to his scars and tattoos. He knew who he was and he was afraid--which was stupid and useless. I elbowed him out of the way, too preoccupied and concerned to give him the lecture I wanted to, and helped my brother inside alone with one hand around his waist and the other on his arm just below his elbow—his wrists and hands were healed but looked red and irritated, meaning they’d been inured shortly before.  
Van and Nesbitt were up and alert, telling the crowd to form a line. She said food was being prepared for them, and she would go down the line taking a list of their needs or ailments, and make whatever potions they needed. Nesbit grumbled about the lack of food, but neither he nor Van nor these new refugees were on my mind.  
Nathan had new scars. On both of his hands—wherever he’d been hadn’t been kind on his fingers. Many of them looked as though they’d been broken and healed crooked, and his nail beds were angry red. He had scars on his torso. Little burns on his arms, like a cigarette was stubbed out. Cuts on his wrists. A slash across one cheekbone leading to his ear.  
He’d healed all of them before I could. The only thing for me to do was straighten his fingers, and that would require breaking them again. That I didn’t have the stomach for. Not then. And I could see he didn’t either.  
He had more scars, too, the invisible kind. I could see it on his face and in the way he held himself. But I can’t help those. So I just hugged him, and he sank into me, drained.  
It was the first time I’ve seen my little brother cry. He did so into my shirt, quietly, as though he’d forced himself to learn how. It might have gone on longer but he was so exhausted that he fell asleep with tear streaks still on his face.  
What good is a healer who can’t heal?

They both slept for a very long time, during which I busied myself by helping those in need. Most were just malnourished, although some had concussions or broken bones. Many were just shell-shocked. I spoke to them as gently as possible, but most often the response I received was wide-eyed silence. There was one girl, though. Matted, mousy brown hair down her back and sharp, intelligent eyes.  
“Who are you people?”  
“I’m Arran. I’m a healer. The house you’ll be staying in for now belongs to Victoria Van Dal, one of the leaders of the Alliance resistance force against the White Witch Council.”  
“For how long?”  
“I’m not sure—but at least as long as it takes these to heal.” I motioned to the burn marks on her arm that I was patching up.  
“Am I a prisoner?” Her tone was challenging.  
I recoiled, horrified. “Of course not!”  
She shrugged. “Can’t be too careful. Though I’d like to talk to Victoria Van Dal in person.”  
“We can see to that, once she’s not quite as busy.”  
“I can wait.”  
She waited a very long while. I tried to speak with her for a bit, in between patients. Her name was Natalie. She only answered me in short, one-word answers, and when I asked what happened, why she was there, she stopped answering altogether. I threw myself into my work and lost the hours.  
At some point, I tended to Gabriel. He awoke about six hours before Nathan.  
Gabriel, I could help. His healing isn’t as good as my brother’s. He had a broken nose and welts down his back, one on his face, and a gash in his eyebrow—I think the two will match once he’s healed. A scar above each eye. One for meeting Nathan, the other for looking for him.  
The welts looked like they were from a belt. I wanted to ask, but it’s only my place to heal. Not to rip someone open again.  
It took about two hours, but after that he was fine, if a little worse for wear.  
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked him gently. He shook his head slowly, without looking at me, and retreated back to the room he shared with my brother.  
I’m worried. About both of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We’re doing what we can for the refugees. Van has gotten Celia onto her cause, and she’s using what numbers she has to scout out new residences, houses that were abandoned in the rush of war. If Nathan was in a better state, I would have asked him if he could do something about the weather, make it a little sunnier, a little warmer—after all, all these people are either Black Witches or whets, and no matter which they’re all sleeping outside. But Nathan doesn’t talk much. He lets me and Gabriel hug him occasionally, but he shies away from pretty much anyone else. He’s avoided all of the refugees, though Natalie has told me numerous times she’d like to see him.  
“What for?”  
“He’s a hero. I’d like to thank him.”  
“What did he do?”  
“He freed us all.”  
I tried to tell him this, but he just shook his head. When I pressed him, he left.  
He’s a brave person and a kind person, despite any misconceptions people have about him. But he’s endured a lot. And sometimes, that expression I see on his face when he thinks I’m not looking—it looks like grieving.  
When I was trying to convince Nathan to back out of Van’s plan, he argued with me with a stubbornness I found very strange. I thought at first it was just because he didn’t want to give up the life he’d found again and made for himself, but not I realize it was also something else.  
I think he looked at this as a way to atone for what he’d done in the war. But it’s become bigger or bloodier than he thought it would, and now he doesn’t want to see what he’s done, even if it’s a good thing. I think a lot of that has to do with Gabriel.  
He’s gotten very protective of him. Which, I suppose he always was, but not outright. But now he’s on edge. If Gabriel turns his head too fast, Nathan turns with him, his eyes fixed and gaze predatory, the wolf tensing just under his skin. If he sees him shivering the weather immediately leaps ten degrees. If Gabriel flinches, Nathan’s hands start smoking. And everything metal, regardless of what it is, melts. Nesbitt has been furious—he needed to buy all new guns and all new cooking supplies.  
Something happened to the two of them, and it can’t be good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Michèle.  
So much has happened.   
Oh, my Nathan.

I’m so glad he’s here.  
I was so afraid.  
I can still hear his screams ringing in my ears sometimes, when I spend too much time alone, too many seconds away from him. I feel this compulsion, not even a decision, and I know I have to check on him again, be with him again, reassure myself that he’s safe, and I just drop everything else as fast as I can.

I don’t know how exactly to explain what happened. I’ve been trying to wipe it out of my memory.  
Six days, and I’d been going insane.  
Not like last time. It’s not like last time.  
Last time, when he disappeared, I knew he was dead. I felt it so profoundly that I became hollow and all I wanted to do was find him so that I could go with him.  
He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. I just needed to keep searching harder.  
I’d found the angel he’d been talking about. I hadn’t realized he meant a statue—but at least that meant he hadn’t been delusional. I’d been searching around the rotary it was situated in, looking for clues. I hadn’t bothered to disguise myself for any of that week; I wanted them to notice me. I wanted them to find me. I wanted them to come to me, so they would take me to Nathan—whoever they were.

Well, they did.

It was the sixth day, and the sun was setting.  
It wasn’t a crowded area. I’d already attracted attention from the local storeowners—I could tell by the way their eyes followed me. The fains were suspicious of how much I’d been loitering, thinking, maybe, it was drug-related—but they never saw me meet anyone. The White Witches, well, I’d been keeping tabs on them. Just as much as they’d been keeping tabs on me.  
I was walking through an alley, trying to follow one. Now, I can’t remember their face—but that’s probably an aftereffect of what happens next.  
It felt like dying.  
I could feel my heart stumble painfully within my chest, like a truck grinding to a halt on a gravel road. My lungs felt like they were being crushed. My legs wouldn’t work any longer and my arms couldn’t hold me up. I fell, face-first, into the pavement. My nose, broken. My tongue bitten. Foam and blood fell to the ground as I contorted on the concrete. My mind was seared white with pain.  
I think I saw a shadow standing over me before I blacked out, but it could have just been my fevered mind hallucinating.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up to find myself in a dog crate, and I was immediately offended.  
Immediately after that, I registered all the exotic forms of pain I was in. My nose was numb and tingly, the skin around it hot and inflamed. My head throbbed, and my limbs felt still and achy. I groaned and tried to roll around, but the crate was too small.  
I heard metal clink, and squinted up. If I hadn’t already been concussed, I might have given myself one by how fast I tried to sit up. “Nathan!”  
He was in the crate next to me. His face was bruised and battered, his clothes torn and grimy with sweat and what I hoped wasn’t blood. His eyes were shadowed and worried, his hands clutching the metal separating us.  
We were in a fairly large room, pushed to the corner. There was a chair and table in the middle with scratches and dark marks on both. Behind that weak light leaked from the bottom of a closed door. The walls looked dark, like some sort of stone, but the lighting was so dim it was hard to tell.  
“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed. His voice was thicker than usual, his _s_ sound a little rounder.  “How did you get here? How did you get out? What did they do to you?”  
“Yeah, I’m happy to see you too.”  
“Gabriel! Answer me!”  
“Ugh.” My brain felt sluggish, my thoughts thick as oatmeal. All his questions were too much to process at once with his sudden appearance. I stared at the bars separating us in confusion and tried to reach for them, only to realize that my hands, like his, were handcuffed together. “Why are you even still here? What about your Gifts?”  
He bit his lip. “There’s a complication.”  
My head was pounding. I scowled. “What sort of _complication_?”  
“That,” a voice drawled behind us, “would be me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The complication was a Black Witch named Dana.  
She was eighteen, same as Nathan. Her Gift had bloomed a little later than his, and it seemed to have even more of a mind of its own. Compiled with whatever sort of potion out captors gave her in her food, she outlined exactly how in trouble we all were.  
She had short, jet-black hair and a smile made of daggers, eyes of blue ice and bones fine and sharp enough to draw blood. In another world, she and Nathan might have been related.  
She’d been there months, she explained. Before the war even stopped.  
They’d had this operation going long before we found out about it. She said a lot of it was underground—the Council didn’t mess with this stuff, helpful as it might have been for them. They needed to seem at least a bit like they were upstanding, if only to themselves. No, this was where the weaker ones went. The bitter ones. The White Witches with privilege but no power, and the Half-Bloods with neither and hungering for any.  
The slave trade. And Dana had been here so long for a reason.  
Michele, you’re quick-witted. Can you guess what Dana’s Gift was?  
I couldn’t. She toyed with me for ages until Nathan spat it out.  
“It’s reactionary,” he explained distractedly, staring at the doorway. It was obvious he had other things on his mind. “Her Gift repels others. Makes them go dormant.”  
“So you’re like an equalizer,” I whispered to her. “Nobody has Gifts around you.”  
“That’s an overly nice way of putting it, but sure.”  
“Try,” Nathan urged.  
I tried to shift and it was the worst feeling. It felt like my Gift just wasn’t there, like I had turned myself fain again. I shivered.  
No Gifts. No Gifts no Gifts _no Gifts_.  
It was like being fain again. It was like being trapped battling Nathan’s Gifts, being stuck with the potions and not being able to turn. _No Gifts_.  
I allowed myself a few seconds of unbridled panic before trying to control myself.  
I forced my panting to slow down enough to pose a question to Dana.“You can’t control it?”  
“They stole me away right after it appeared. I trusted someone…who I shouldn’t have.” Her eyes were shadowed, mouth a taut line. “I never learned to control it—and whatever they put in my food keeps it that way. I’ve tried starving myself, only to have them shove an IV in me.”  
I nodded pensively.  
“Does this mean we can stay inside for the night?”  
“I haven’t had a problem,” Nathan said. “But Gabriel. You never answered. How did you get here?”  
“Arran got me out of the cottage—” (Nathan swore) “—and then I went looking for you.”  
He pursed his lips. “I didn’t want you to do that.”  
“What did you expect me to do?” I was getting angry, now that the shock of seeing him was wearing off. “What the fuck was—”  
“Gabriel, shhh,” he said, his eyes a bizarre mix of hard, stubborn and pleading. “I made the choice I had to. Don’t make them come down here.”  
“You didn’t have to do that.” But it was a subject I knew we wouldn’t made headway on, not here, not now. And I had other questions. “Who’s them?”  
“Do you think I’m in a fucking cage again for fun?”  
“It’s the ones who own the underground trade,” Dana explained, much more calmly than Nathan, who was fuming—the angry tired he gets when he’s upset and can’t do anything. “There’s two who usually come down here, but I know there are more who don’t. One of them—the one I’m assuming got you—has a very powerful pain Gift, which thankfully is entirely useless down here. But they get creative. When they want things.”  
“What sort of things?”  
Nathan raised an eyebrow. “Like where their missing cargo truck and driver went.”  
I stared him down. I was already angry with him for what he did, and I still am now that we have some peace, but that withered and died the longer I looked at him, replaced by something stronger, colder, wrathful.  
They hurt him, Michele.  
I don’t want to try to list all the marks I saw on him. It’ll just make me furious again, this time needlessly. They’re already dead; no use in dredging up ghosts.  
"Why is your voice different?" I asked him.  
"What?"  
"It's like you're talking with a lisp."  
"Ah..." He looked a little embarrassed. "I, ah."  
"For the record, I told him it was a stupid idea," Dana added in.  
"Nathan, what did you do?"  
He was red up to the tips of his ears, and kept turning his face away from me. He muttered something.  
"What?"  
"I said I bit my tongue."  
"Purposely?"  
"Yeah."  
"Why?"  
"So I wouldn't have the option of talking to them," he explained. "I was worried I'd break soon."  
"He was originally going to try to bite it  _off_ ," Dana helped, "but that's fairly impossible to do on purpose. And wouldn't have gotten him much except killed."  
My expression must have looked as horrified as I felt.  
“I haven’t told them anything,” Nathan said hurriedly, as if that was why my face had changed.  
“I know.”  
“Not a thing.”  
I can’t reach him, so I press a kiss to the fingers of my free hand, and press it into his.  
“You can’t tell them anything, Gabriel.”  
“Even if they torture me, I won’t.”  
“And if it’s me?”  
“If they hurt you?”  
His eyes were flint. “Yeah.”  
My voice was stone. “I can’t promise anything.”  
“You have to.”  
“I can’t.”  
“Gabriel, you _have_ to.”  
“If it comes to that,” I tell him, my words heavy and cold as metal, dangerous as a weapon “I will make the only decision I can. And that’s the only thing I can promise you.”  
His lips disappeared in a thin white line and he scowled at me with all the fire and brimstone I’ve seen him dredge up, but nothing he did could convince me to say anything different. Had this just been a normal fight at the cottage, he may have ignored me for a bit, or gone out for a run, or sulked in the woods for a day or two. But we didn’t have that luxury here. So I could tell he was angry because he turned his head away from me and stared at the entrance to the room with an intensity so hot it was as if he was trying to blow open the door by the force of his concentration. And I could tell he was afraid by the way he pressed his fingers through the bars and intertwined them with mine, the thin metal still between us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nathan was wired and obviously in pain. His eyes were wide open and see-sawed between staring fixedly at the door and darting wildly across the room, despite the bags attempting to draw his eyelids down. His jaw was tense and working, fingers clawed through the openings of the crate, and I thought he would never settle. I knew I wouldn’t.  
“We need to be ready,” he insisted.  
And so, we made the beginnings of a plan. Regardless of the fact that I’d never even seen our captors before. Regardless of the fact that none of us knew the layout of where we were being held. Regardless of how many other people were here we didn’t know about—Dana could only name four, maximum, including the Witch with the pain Gift. But that couldn’t be right. Regardless of what they were planning on doing to any of us—and I knew with a certainty sunk so low it practically bolted me into the ground that it was nothing good. I knew that if they touched my Nathan again, someone would be dead, and it would probably be me.  
Eventually, as no one paid us a visit, he drifted off into a halting half-sleep with his fingers in mine threaded through the cages. This past week had worn him down to skin and bones, and he couldn’t stay alert for twenty-four hours a day, no matter how hard he tried.  
“You’re him, then.” Dana was watching me with tired curiosity.  
“ ‘Him’?” I was wary around her. I know the saying ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ and all, but I barely knew anything about her.  
“Nathan’s talked about you. Never used your name, though.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah. He gets this faraway expression when he does. Never says much, but I’m thinking that’s more to do with him than you.” Her accent was a bit difficult for me to place, not having traveled much in America besides Tampa—if I had to place it, I might say Georgia.  
I nodded and rubbed the back of his fingers with my thumb.  
“Is there any sort of way out of here? Wherever here is?”  
“I’ve been searching for that since I got here. I think we’re underground,” Dana said. “All the lights are electrical, and the wiring goes up through the ceiling.”  
I looked around, even in the dim light, and could tell she was right.  
When was the last time Nathan had his potion?  
Too long for it to work now. Too long for it to have been working most all week.  
“Does it still hurt him?” I asked her. I kept my voice low so I wouldn’t wake him, but my tone was accusatory, even though it wasn’t her fault and I knew it; I just needed someone to blame. “Even without his Gifts and the ability to spend a night indoors?”  
She nodded. “It’s strange. He gets migraines,” she said. “And the buzzing in his ears. I don’t know why. But then, maybe it’s a bit of his Gift still forcing its way through mine.”  
I was so angry, Michele. Just imagining everything that might have happened to him made me feel like I was tearing in two.  
“That’s a good thing, Gabriel,” she tried to reassure me. “It means he may be able to use his Gift despite mine.”  
“Nothing keeping him in pain is a good thing.”  
She paused a bit, then shrugged. She muttered as she turned away.  
“Here, we’re all hurting.”


	15. Chapter 15

I hold him tighter here. Not being able to reach him there was horrible. Seeing him hurting was the worst thing. It was the sort of sound that drove me insane, made me do anything, anything at all, no matter how crazy or stupid or reckless, as long as it ended right then and there. Hearing all the dark things in his voice killed me.  
We’ve both been having nightmares, so Van has given us a sleeping potion to take. My dreams are strange and my sleep is never as restful as it was before, but at least I do sleep. So, thankfully, does Nathan.  
I usually wake up before him. He was never much of a morning person, ever since I met him. I lie there next to him, listening to him breathe, breathing in the smell of him. The potion puts him in a state less like sleeping and more like unconsciousness, so he’s no longer the light sleeper he once was. Sometimes it’s a bit unsettling—when he doesn’t wake up right away after I brush his hair back or kiss his cheek my mind goes back to that dark place and I have to focus on the healthy glow of his skin and the way his breathing is slow and smooth. But sometimes it works well for me, because when we sleep we tend to become a bit separated—I move around more than he does, and I steal blankets in my sleep. With him sleeping deeper (or, I suppose a truer way of putting it would be “mildly sedated”) I can gently wrap my arms back around him and I won’t wake him up, if I do it slowly and softly enough.  
Each morning I whisper a kiss onto his forehead. He looks so much younger asleep. Like the age he should look like. When he’s awake, he’s always frowning or scowling, lines burrowing into his forehead and at the corners of his mouth. I was working on that with him before and I’d gotten it so he smiled most every time he saw me—although other people were a whole different problem. And now he’s fallen backwards again.  
Nathan is a naturally quiet person. And sometimes that quiet is peaceful, complacent. Happy. But other times it can be a deep and disquieting silence, full of invisible movement and shadows prowling the depths like the dangerous and precarious stillness of the deep sea.  
He’s more steadily affectionate now than he was, much more hot than cold. And more public about it, too. He lets me hold his hand when we’re around the others now. He’ll put his hand on my arm and leave it there if he feels unsteady, and if he looks far away, he’ll let me wrap an arm around his shoulders until he comes back. And I know it’s not because he loves me any more or less, it’s just that, now, we both need it.  
I only spent two days down there. He spent a whole week. When I think about that, his thousand-yard stares don’t seem as odd.  
Arran has told me the refugees—at least, the sixty-odd ones we freed from the holding house—think Nathan is a hero. That they want to thank him. And I can see it’s true in the way they look at me, in the way some of their expressions change when they see Nathan lurking in a corner somewhere (they never get close, though. He always runs away from them if it looks like they’re going to approach him). And _I_ think my love is a hero, but then, I’ve always thought he was heroic. It’s himself that needs convincing.  
All his life he’s been taught that he’s the villain. Son of the big, bad, Black Witch, murderous lunatic who’s killed so many people. Fugitive from the forgiving government of the White Witch Council. Runaway who left his family in flames.  
Marcus was undoubtedly a bad person. He didn’t have to kill nearly any of the people he did, that I know of. And Nathan, because he’s his son and because this is what everyone has always done, can’t stop comparing himself to him. And he feels strange because he knows Marcus was a bad person, but adored him anyway because he was his father and admired him because he was so powerful and free, completely unencumbered. And it’s even more muddled because he grew up under the Council in an entirely White Witch family, so he immediately associates any bit of Black Witch in him to be bad—but the Council committed so many atrocities, they couldn’t be good, either. And I know he loves me, even with what darkness and failures I carry, and I’m Black Witch. So he wasn’t good, but he wasn’t as horrendous as Marcus—because even though he killed more Witches than him, he killed them because he felt he needed to, because we were in war and he felt he had to—and he wasn’t ever as atrocious as the Council, so he wasn’t entirely bad, either. But that never meant he was good. In his eyes, he was never good.  
He could never be the hero, because the world never let him. Now that it’s changed, he hasn’t—he’s stuck thinking of himself as something lesser. Something shameful, to be hidden.  
I want so much for him to realize he’s wrong. That he’s worthwhile. That he can actually do something, has already done something great and wonderful and powerful. But my love is stubborn, and struggle is the only thing he knows—getting him to let go something he never learned. But he has to see, Michele. He’s so good.  
He’s so brave and kind and wonderful. And he has flaws, there’s no arguing that. But he’s so much more than them. And it makes me sad, because sometimes I think he’ll never let him meet himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m really quite selfish, Michele. I never pretended otherwise.  
I couldn’t see him hurt. Seeing that hurt me worse than anything they could do to me. So the decision was nothing at all. I simply made sure they chose me instead.  
It wasn’t hard. After so long trying with Nathan and coming up with nothing, I’m sure they were ready to test someone new.  
I never fell asleep. I kept guard over Dana and Nathan the entire night. For hours and hours there was nothing but stillness, the low buzz of the electric lights and the jagged madness of my own anxious thoughts. And then I heard footsteps. And soon after that, the jingle of keys.  
As the door squealed open the other two started awake. Nathan’s fingers, a second ago limp in my hand, crushed my own as his eyes darted from the door to me.  
The woman who entered looked ruthless, with stringy blonde hair tied up in a bun so severe it turned her hairline whitish. She had deep lines carved into her face, and teeth small and blunt like little stones. And, Michele, I refrain from calling women bitches as a general rule. But this woman is the exception.  
The man who followed her was thin and reedy, his hair balding, his face rodent-like. I saw him put the keys on a loop attached to his belt at the left hip, and noted a gun stowed at his right—his jacket was loose, but not loose enough to hide it completely. As, I’m sure, he meant it to be.  
She strolled past Nathan’s cage. “Have a good morning?” she asked him mildly. He was practically hissing. He spat on her shirt, but she moved to evade it in such an offhanded way it must have been habitual. Rat-face rattled his cage and Nathan growled at him.  
“Who are you?” she demanded to me, stopped in front of my cage. I felt horribly vulnerable, all hunched in a ball as she towered above me.  
“Let me out of here, and then we’ll talk,” I smiled at her. I put on my most charming grin. Nathan turned to growl at me.  
She sized me up coldly, before nodding. “If that’s what you want.” She motioned to her companion as she walked to the table. I felt a wave of relief wash over me as he unlocked the door, going limp with the prospect of freedom only to be grabbed and manhandled out. I had no time to stretch the blood back into my numb legs, and the way he had a hold on both my arms meant I couldn’t reach and grab his gun like we’d hoped I could. As he dragged me to the chair, I caught Nathan’s panicked face pressed to the bars. Dana started kicking and screaming in her cage, trying to cause a diversion. Neither of them looked twice at her.  
I said we had a plan. Not that it was a good one. Three sleep-deprived, terrorized, undernourished almost-adults can’t be expected to produce something that spectacular.  
I’d say we had a pleasant conversation, she and I, but I’d be lying. I’ll spare you the gruesome details. You are still my sister. I’m sorry to even have to tell you this, but I need to get it out of me before it rots.  
I never talked. Just like I’d promised Nathan. But for all of his stubborn silence and all the promises he tried to guilt me into, it didn’t take him long at all.  
“I’ll tell you!” he screeched from the cages, his voice unlike his own.  
The fucking—that bi—  
You know what, no. I’m not even going to try to explain. But she did what she did and I could take it, but Nathan couldn't.  
She walked over to him and I sighed in relief that she was away from me. It took a few seconds to register that it was now Nathan who was in danger, something I’m ashamed to admit took so long. Relief was immediately replaced with guilt and then with panic. And then, as I was about to try to spring from the floor (which I can tell you, in the state I was in would have been impossible), the next thing Nathan said gave me pause. It made my thoughts slow down and cool.  
“Norway,” he blurted, staring at me. “It’s in Norway.”  
When he lied like that, I knew that what looked like panic was fevered calculation. Whatever anxiety he had about lying he hid with his very real fear for my safety. The way the woman nodded, it seemed as though she couldn’t tell. If I didn’t know he was lying, I might have said it was the truth, too.  
The man was still hovering near me. Guarding me.  
Nathan was counting on me. Dana was counting on me. Whoever else was trapped here was counting on me. I was the only one out of the cage.  
I needed to stay level.  
And right then, that meant staying on the ground.  
Nathan and the bitch were talking.  
“Where in Norway?”  
“I can lead you there with a cut.”  
She shook her head, knowing what would happen if she let him have access to his Gifts. Even if not everyone in the Witch world knows about Nathan taking Marcus’ Gifts, they know Nathan is extremely powerful in his own right, and they know about his fighting prowess. Soul and Wallend made sure he was as recognizable as possible. It’s just lucky for us that these people don’t know what a Witch’s Bottle is, or Nathan might have been missing a pinky finger and we might have been in a whole different world of hurt.  
“Where in Norway? What town?” Her voice was becoming more urgent.  
“Nobody ever said it for security, and I can’t read,” Nathan growled. She turned like she was going to make for me again. “No! No, a map. I can draw you a map. I swear.”  
She stared at him long and hard. “I will kill him,” she breathed to him. “If you’re lying, I will kill him.”  
He stared back, unflinching, teeth bared. He never gives an inch. “I know.”  
She nodded. “Get the keys,” she called.  
Rat-man glanced at her and reached for his key ring.  
I seized the opportunity Nathan had created for me.  
The gun was in my hand just as the woman was drawing hers. My back was screaming, but I managed to shoot the man in the stomach. I moved myself and used him, still alive, as cover from her bullets. She was dead within the minute.  
High on adrenaline, I grabbed the key ring and sprinted to Nathan, tossing the gun aside. I fumbled with them twice, and it took me three of the longest minutes of my life to get his cage open, but I did.  
He tumbled out and ran to the man on the ground, who was straining for the gun I’d accidentally thrown just out of his reach. He stomped on his fingers as hard as he could, relishing the crunch beneath his foot. Rat-face screamed.  
“That’s for breaking mine.” Nathan kicked him in the stomach, right where the bullet was. Rat vomited red sludge.  
I let Nathan do what he needed to, for the moment. But we had better things to do; things that needed to get done now, before anyone came looking. While he was getting his revenge I was unlocking Dana and realizing that the key ring did not hold the ones necessary to unlock our manacles. I had a clue, though.  
I called Nathan over as I searched the woman’s body and Dana searched the room for anything we could use. I found the keys in one of her pockets. Dana found the belt, but that was essentially it. I couldn’t look at it.  
I scooped the gun off the ground and with all three of us free, Dana, having stayed here the longest, led the way into what darkness we had to face next.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He looked a bit less jumpy today than he has been, so I decided to bring up something that was weighing on my mind very heavily. I still wasn’t back to normal, but I needed to show him this, and we needed to have this conversation.  
I brought him back through the cut to what used to be our cottage. I picked my way through waves of roots and vines and fallen branches, stopping at the only break in the vegetation—the one Arran burned for me.  
Nathan was staring at the octopus-tree, his black eyes blank.  
“Look at this, Nathan.” I didn’t mean to make my voice as harsh as it sounded. I could see his jaw clench and his shoulders hunch, and knew he was trying not to wince. “Look at what you did to our home.”  
“I had to.” No, instead of getting vulnerable, he got defensive. How he usually becomes when we fight.  
“No, you didn’t.”  
“You don’t understand.”  
“You’re right,” I said, scowling. I leaned against the ruin that used to be a wall and crossed my arms. “I don’t understand. In this work, we’re partners, Nathan—we work together. We trust each other. We communicate with one another, because our job is dangerous, and doing something stupid could cost both of our lives. I don’t understand this _at all_. Please. Enlighten me.” I knew I was cutting off my consonants with my teeth. It’s a habit I get when I’m angry. Usually I don’t use it with him.  
Nathan heard it, but all it seemed to do was make him angrier. “I was protecting you!”  
“By what, dying? I don’t need your protection!”  
“I wouldn’t have died,” he scowled. “You don’t understand.”  
“Oh, yeah. The state I found you in was really promising. You looked like you had everything under control—” I raised a hand because he opened his mouth to argue, and he was so surprised, he kept quiet. “But I still don’t get it. Make me understand. Make me understand why the hell you don’t fucking trust me enough to let me pay back a fucking debt.”  
“It’s not about trust!”  
“Then what the fuck is it about? _Putain_ , Nathan.”  
“It’s…you…” He looked lost, searching for the words. But I wasn’t about to help him. I needed him to explain this to me himself. I needed to know this wouldn’t happen again.  
“It was a vision,” he finally blurted. I nodded unhappily—I had a feeling it was that.  
“And?”  
“And, you…I saw you die.”  
I glared at him and shook my head, more confused and frightened than skeptical.  
His voice was quiet and unsteady, but he continued with a storm on his face. “I don’t…I think now it might have been the one with the pain Gift. One of the ones…he, I just remember seeing you fall and fucking twitch around and your eyes were rolling and you weren’t even screaming and, fuck. I just. It was in front of the angel. I couldn’t let you near it. I had to get rid of it.”  
“So you went back to destroy the statue.”  
“Yeah.”  
“After trapping me in the cage you made of our house.”  
“I had to.”  
I huffed. “You didn’t. You could have explained yourself.”  
“I couldn’t, I just—I couldn’t. I didn’t want you to…I didn’t want to have to say it, because I don’t like saying sorts of things like that.”  
“Like what?”  
“The things I don’t want to ever happen. It’s bad…I feel like its bad luck, sort of. Like now it’ll happen just because I said it. And I didn’t want you to do something that would put you back there anyway, so this was the only way.”  
I shook my head and rubbed my temples. “I nearly went insane looking for you.”  
“I’m sorry that had to be a part of it. I didn’t mean to be away so long. I meant it to be an hour, maybe two. A night at the most.”  
“What were you planning on doing?”  
“Destroying the angel.”  
“Because if you got rid of the angel I couldn’t die in front of it.”  
“Yeah.”  
“What happened instead?”  
“I didn’t want to hurt anyone, so I waited until there weren’t others around. But then I still smelled people very close. So I had a look around. They must have seen me shift—I think there were cameras in it. There were the five of them who came at me. I tried to run but then he hit me with that—that Gift…it was like Celia’s only worse, and I tried to fight but I couldn’t, and then, well…you know.”  
“Yeah.”  
He was quiet for a bit, scuffling his shoes in the dirt. He made a bunch of the plants around us wither away, revealing the outside of the little house. “The tree is going to take longer.”  
“I don’t care.”  
“I’m sorry you’re mad. And I’m sorry you were worried.”  
“Is that the best you can do?”  
“Yes.”  
“No, it’s not. You need to promise me, Nathan, that you won’t do something like that again.”  
“I…”  
“If you don’t promise me this, it will hurt me more than anything, Nathan.”  
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, staring at the ground.  
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. Just tell me you won’t do it again.”  
He screwed his eyes shut. “I knew you would get out, after I’d been missing for a while. I didn’t know how, but I knew you would. And it was horrifying. I kept thinking you’d come back searching and they’d catch you and kill you and I’d be stuck in that cage and never see you again. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to protect you.”  
“I know,” I said, still away from him. I wanted to hug him but I couldn’t, not until he promised. Not until I made him see how wrong the course of action he’d chosen was. “But if we’d been together, you wouldn’t have had to worry. If you’d told me why you were afraid, we would have found ways around it. We could have strategized and planned and prepared, just in case the worst did happen. But instead you shut me up with no information, and I was left thinking you were going to go out and get yourself killed. Don’t you see? That not talking to me about things like this just makes everything worse? You might have spared me a few days worry after your vision, when you didn’t tell me about it. But I’d give those up if it means avoiding the hell you put me through this last week, Nathan.”  
“I’m sorry. I’m—”  
“Promise me, Nathan.”  
“I…” he peered into my face, and saw his own stubbornness reflected back. And I saw his assurance crumble. Because he knew, I could tell, that he thought I was right. But admitting it would mean that he was wrong. That he’d endangered both of us for nothing other than the false assurance he could take care of it.  
“We’re a team, Nathan. We have to communicate.” I stepped towards him. “I’ll follow you anywhere, but I need to know where we’re going, you know?”  
He sighed and nodded. “Okay.”  
“ ‘Okay’, what?”  
“Okay. Alright. Next time I see something that freaks me out you’ll know.”  
“Visions, creatures, people. Weather patterns. Aliens. It doesn’t matter how improbable it is. I want you to tell me.”  
“Alright.”  
“Alright.”  
He still looked upset. Most of my anger had cooled—with Nathan specifically, I can never stay mad. I put an arm around his shoulder and motioned to what was barely recognizable as our house.  
“Want to help me clean this up?”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of that day and into the next morning he was very quiet, even by his standards. I decided to pressure him a bit about it—I couldn’t have him backing out of our promise. That was non-negotiable. We each had to trust each other completely, or I would just be left behind again. I can’t take that again.

“Talk to me.”  
“.”  
“I know it’s hard for you.”  
“.”  
“.”  
“.”  
“I know you’re still with me. I know you can hear me. I’m not going away.”  
“.”  
“.”  
“.”  
“.”  
“…”  
“Yes?”  
“Maybe…”  
“…”  
“Maybe…we should go.”  
“.”  
“.”  
“.”  
“.”  
“…Why?”  
“I’m done...being used.”  
“…”  
“That’s all…that’s all they’ve ever done. Use me. Us. I don’t…I didn’t want to keep fighting.”  
“I know.”  
“I didn’t want her to…”  
“.”  
“.”  
“I know.”  
“.”  
“.”  
“Do you…?”  
“Do I what?”  
“Do you…want to leave?”  
“I want to be where you are. If you need to leave we can go. Right now. But…if I don’t do this, I’ll regret it.”  
“They’re using us.”  
“Yes. And I know that bothers you more than me. And, I know this doesn’t make it right, but it’s to do wonderful things. My love, we’ve saved so many people.”  
“For nothing if they don’t receive their giving ceremony.”  
“You did a brave thing. You shouldn’t undermine it.”  
“I can and will.”  
“That doesn’t change what it is to everyone else.”  
“I didn’t mean to. I didn't mean to hurt them.”  
“But you did.”  
“.”  
“.”  
“It was a mistake.”  
“I know. But that doesn’t change what it is now.”  
“.”  
“.”  
“.”  
“.”  
“.”  
“…”  
“.”  
“Shall we go, my love?”  
“.”  
“.”  
“…No.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ellen has been over a few times. Van invited her for reasons unknown to the rest of us. But she informed Nathan and I very quickly.  
Word of her arrival roused him enough to see her. I know he’s missed her. And he craves people he can trust. He has me and Arran, obviously, but we’re only two people—and we’ve both been getting on his nerves, hovering too much.  
We saw her as we were leaving the woods after a run. Nathan sprinted to her and hugged her and spun her around with a bright smile on his face. In that moment, I wished I had his ability to stop time, so I could look at how well he wore that expression as long as I wanted.  
For a while all we did was talk of her life. She’s finished with her general requirements at university and wants to go into technology and computer science. It’s for this reason that Van called her here.  
As Nathan predicted, Ellen is talented. She built her own computer before the end of the semester—something which sounds very impressive even to Nathan, who’s never really used one. I think you’d like her. She’s got fire in her.  
She’s here to do some hacking.  
Van thinks that if she knows enough about the refugees, their parents’ names and their countries of origin, she should be able to find their closest living kin. If she can, she would save just about all these people.  
I know she’s good at talking to people. After all, she was able to make Nathan trust her (though she did catch him at a vulnerable point—he probably would have sworn his life to anyone who gave him a smile and a sandwich back then). And it won’t be hard to get them to tell us what we need, especially since all of this is for their benefit. But it was faster with two people instead of one. So Nathan wandered back to the woods for a little while as Ellen and I got to work.  
As I talked with them, I listened to others. I watched the way their eyes followed Nathan, how their expressions changed. I got all the information we needed, but I also got extra information as well.  
They’re afraid of him, like he thinks. Fear of the power he holds; fear of how unpredictably he wields it. But it’s not the sort of festering fear he believes it is. At least, not now. Not yet. What they see in him for now is heroism. When they talk about him, their words are softened and blurred with thick admiration. I believe it helps, too, that many of those we rescued are younger—they’re closer to Nathan’s age, and so he becomes a sympathetic sort of character to them, rather than a child to quell and manipulate.  
I smile when I hear some of the others whisper to themselves. I’m not exactly used to hearing harmless gossip about myself, but it happens frequently enough that it’s not entirely an anomaly—when it comes to Nathan, though, I’m always listening for someone with a violent mouth to speak what they think, so I know to keep them out of our way.  
Here, refreshingly, that opinion seems outnumbered. It still exists, to be sure—the original ten certainly don’t share the sentiment and there are many within this group who are more wary than awestruck. But there are a few here who seem to, sort of…fawn over him.  
“He’s very mysterious,” I heard one say. I can only imagine what she looked like, because I was eavesdropping with my face turned away.  
“I dunno, I think he just might be shy,” said another.  
A snort. “Someone who can fight like that? Shy?”  
I smiled.  
They want to meet him. Or, at least, they want to make a legend real. They want to see him in flesh and blood, in light rather than shadow, maybe even hear his voice. Because my Nathan, with his Gifts, he’s so much more than just what is. Why fear a god when you can love him?  
I don’t care how much coaxing it’ll take. I want him to talk to them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What happened underneath the angel was not pretty, Michele.  
That’s where we were being held, unbeknownst to us—in an old, abandoned metro station right underneath Nathan’s granite angel. We discovered the tracks as we ran through the dark. Out of the room we’d been held, take a left because it’s as good as any other direction, fall. Nathan swore like a sailor and I knew he was clenching his fists trying to summon fire that wouldn’t come.  
We helped each other out of the well for the train and followed the wall to the next lighted tunnel. Bits of moss and chips of paint wore off under my fingers. We turned a corner.  
We found more cages. More people. Dozens, in crates like ours, stacked one on top another.  
They called out to us for help, some weakly, some screaming. They got our attention. Unfortunately, they got their guards’ attention, too.  
A rag-tag number of people, each equipped with a loaded gun and a mastery of their environment much more complete than any of our combined knowledge, ran at us. We bolted. They followed.  
Bullets ricocheted off the walls and echoed through the dark tunnels. I shot back when I could, but I was reluctant to twist myself around, fearful it would slow my stride and I would trip on something in the dim, shadowy light. We stumbled and swore, the guards hot on our heels. As I realized with a cold shock that they had us surrounded a shrill whistle pierced the air. “Shoot the boys if you must, but leave the girl!” a voice cried.  
We backed towards each other, walking until I could feel the wall behind me.  
Freezing sweat dripped down my spine, but I kept my gun at the ready.  
“Put it down or we shoot,” one of the guards said.  
My elbows stayed locked.  
There were twice as many of them as us. In a normal fight, we may have been able to take them. But we were weak and didn’t know where to run, and amongst the three of us we had one gun to six.  
The guard who spoke cocked his gun and swung it towards Nathan.  
“Wait! Wait!” I started setting my gun down slowly. “I’m going.”  
If I put the gun down, they’d take us back to the cages. Or worse. They might just kill us because if we escaped one, we could escape again. We’d already proven we were dangerous. We killed two of their numbers with no weapons and no Gifts.  
But if I didn’t, they might just shoot us on the spot anyway.  
Dana could see where my train of thought was going. As soon as my grip loosened, she snatched it out of my hand.  
I thought she was going to shoot them.  
Instead, she put the barrel up to her own skull.  
“This is the son of Marcus, and I am the only thing keeping him from eating you,” she declared, her gaze made of flint and her voice of iron. “One wrong move, and we’re all dead.”  
I don’t particularly like this part.  
They all hesitated. They all looked from the gun to her to Nathan worriedly. Some of them even started moving back. Some of them, but not all.  
The one who had spoken previously moved fast, and Dana flinched.  
“Now,” he coaxed her with a voice like honey. “You don’t really want to do that. Here, with us, we can provide for you. We can make a deal, get you a real nice lodging and everything. That’s much more than you ever had before.” He slowly started walking towards her. Her grip tightened and her eyes widened, but other than that, she did nothing. Nathan and I watched. I could see him tensing. Just a little more…just a little more…and Nathan would be in range to tackle him, maybe take his gun away. I’d have to be his cover when the bullets started raining down, if they did. If Dana’s threat wasn’t enough of a deterrent for the others.  
The guard continued talking. “But them? Who are they? You haven’t even known them a week. Are you really going to give up your life for strangers?”  
She stared at him.  
He inched closer.  
“Put the gun down, Dana.” Smooth, soothing. Melodic. Even kind sounding.  
It was the kindness in his voice that made her eyes turn into slits. She hissed a swear at him and shifted her grip on her gun.  
It was then many different things happened at once.  
Dana’s fingers shifted.  
The guard lunged.  
The others had their pistols up.  
Nathan was crouching, ready to do what was necessary. I, the same.  
And then

the gun

went

off.

And the world exploded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nobody was hurt, save for the two Witches in our holding room, the six guards Nathan blew up, and Dana. Somehow he managed to sway his Gifts around the rest of us, even as the fire was raging and the lightning was deafening, the wind howling and the earth being ripped apart by vegetation.  
Official news stories say it was a bomb.  
We know otherwise.


	16. Chapter 16

You know Michele, a while ago, before Nathan got sick, Arran and I talked. Nathan was away in the woods on one of his runs, and his brother was over to visit. He walked around the kitchen as I fixed him tea, and he said some things to me that I find particularly important around now.  
“Look,” he said, unsure where to begin, dragging his hands through his hair the way Nathan does. “Uh.”  
“Are you going to try to talk to me about my relationship with your brother?”  
He looked vaguely sheepish and cleared his throat. “Is it that obvious?”  
“Yeah.”  
He shrugged. “I’m new at this.”  
“You didn’t do this for Deb?”  
“She had David so whipped it would have been overkill.”  
“Ah.”  
“And she’s…she wasn’t quite as, ah, fragile.”  
“Is it fragile or unstable?”  
“I thought fragile sounded a bit better.”  
“Tell that to Nathan.”  
He snorted.  
“Look, Gabriel,” he continued. “When Nathan and I were little and he was just starting school he had a rough time of it. The teachers thought he was a lost cause because reading is so difficult for him, and the kids in his classes thought he was strange. He was alone often. And the way he would look at me then, you would think I was something out of a fairy tale. Like I was some sort of savior.” Arran leaned in. “He looks at you like that now.”  
I waited. He sighed. “Look, I—he’s not kind to people like he is you or me unless he really, deeply cares and trusts. It’s his defense mechanism. But the people he loves, he clings to. You know how he was with Annalise.” I nodded. “And I like you. And I really highly doubt, after everything you’ve done, that either of us are wrong in that.”  
“You’re not.”  
“Well, I hope so.” He glanced down and looked back up at me, his face shadowed and serious. “Because if we are, and you hurt him, I’ll do whatever I can to protect him. You’ll never see him again. No second chances. You will not be a part of his life anymore. You mean too much to hurt him.” The set of his jaw and the glint in his eye made his face that much more similar to his brother’s.  
I nodded back. “I know.”  
A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Although,” I added, “you don’t have much to worry about. He takes after Deb quite a lot.”  
Arran smiled back, and though his words were tinted a bit with grief, it was genuine. “I know.”

\-----------------------

 

Nathan talked to them, like I asked him to. It took him weeks, and I know he was being more than just obstinate. He was nervous. But Van had given us too much time off already.  
I talked to her about our debt. Having Nathan back means more than anything to me, and she knows it, but she also knows she can’t bind us into work like this indefinitely. Especially after what’s happened. So she set out a contract of sorts, one that I’ve agreed to. She thinks my word counts for both of us, but I know it doesn’t. I know Nathan questions the surety of his Gifts and the safety of his presence after what’s happened. I don’t want to bind him into anything he can’t stand. But I hope he stays with me. And as long as he does, we’ll both be well compensated.  
With Ellen employed finding the refugees’ next of kin, some of them now have places to live. Not all of them, but most. She’s a lifesaver, that girl. Literally. She’s been working around the clock trying to find these people before the timer ticks out for most of these people. And although nobody that I know of is in the same sort of pressing immediate danger Nathan was before his birthday—nobody is sprinting against the clock just yet—Ellen, wisely, says she’d rather compile as much information as she can now, rather than pushing our luck. Even if that means pulling all-nighters in strings so long Arran will drag her to a guest room and not let her out until she’s fallen asleep.  
Those who don’t have a place to stay, Van refers to Celia, who has been over numerous times. I keep Nathan away whenever she’s here. I know he won’t hurt her, nor she him, but I’d rather not stir up bad memories.  
Celia has a longer political reach than Van, although hers is growing, as she predicted. She has ownership of a considerable amount of the property seized from the corrupt members of the Council, and has a lot of weight and sway in the government they propped up afterwards (still mostly White Witch, although there are a few Black Witch members—which is more than we could have hoped for previously). She’s made negotiations with Van and negotiations with the refugees—she owns more property than she wants or can keep up with. She’s sold some to Van, and others she keeps so she can make easy money renting. No more tree houses for the first ten, which they’re incredibly grateful for. Fitting, that houses which once belonged to Soul now are homes to dozens of Black Witches.  
Nathan was anxious and pacing today. Van has assigned our next mission for tomorrow. Simple recon, and then, if we find anything, not-so-simple rescue. But that wasn’t what was on his mind right then, and I knew it.  
I’d nagged him until he agreed, and once he did there was no going back. I knew he needed to talk to them. He was acting like he was being hunted by the people he’d rescued, and that just wasn’t true. It was more for his sake than theirs that I was making him do this—not that I let him believe that. Honestly I’m surprised he went along with it. I like to think it’s a testament to how much he trusts my judgment.  
“I’ll talk to them first, ok?” I asked him. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but I think it would be good if you did. Just a few words. About how they’re safe, how we’re trying to help others like them, maybe. Just so they can see you, you know? So they get an impression of you.”  
“They got an impression of me when I blew six people up.”  
“Well, a better impression than that.”  
He sighed. “They all just hate me anyway,” he muttered.  
“You don’t know that.”  
“It’s what always happens.”  
“I met you, and I love you.”  
“You don’t count.”  
“I do. And Arran loves you.”  
“Arran has to.”  
“You know that’s not true. And Rose loved you, and Ellen loves you. And I know if you just show up some of these people might, too.”  
He shook his head and scowled, but went with me anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’d contacted two types of refugees to show up. The overwhelming majority was composed of those I thought were the most promising fighters and recon agents. Van helped me choose those, because if they agreed, they’d be working for her, too. One Witch brags she can understand any language spoken to her, and another can camouflage herself—those are the two Van truly has her eye on. We’ve even called in a few Whets, ones whose families Ellen has already found and who have a sure Giving, to be future recruits, if they want. It’s my job to convince them. It’s Nathan’s job to help. He’s the pretty face to all my talk (well, the second pretty face).  
The second group, much, much smaller, is comprised of people who I know think well of him, whom he likes as well. Specifically a certain little girl and her aunt, though, of course, they aren’t going to be present for the meeting. I just thought it would be good for him to see her.  
She ran up to him when she saw him, as we were walking through the halls on our way to meet up with the rest one of Van’s bigger rooms. Despite everything that’s changing, Van’s house is still the most convenient place for everyone to meet—we all know where it is and trust it And Van enjoys it, because that way, she has complete control over what happens.  
“Nathan!”  
“Oh!” He stopped short, fingers still tugging at his hair. His anxiety faded a bit from his face and his expression softened when he saw her. “What are you doing here? I thought you and your aunt found an apartment weeks ago.”  
“We did,” she said, tugging at his hand. “But she told me you were sick, and I wanted to see you. And give you this!” She held out a battered-looking flower to him, clenched in her fist. It had a petal missing and looked laughably sad, but her crooked-toothed grin more than made up for it.  
He laughed weakly. “Thanks, kid.”  
“It’s because you gave me those flowers before.”  
“I got that.”  
“Are you still sick?”  
“…No, not anymore.”  
“Good. Was it the flu? I had the flu once.”  
“Not exactly.”  
“Was it chicken pox?”  
“No, it wasn’t.”  
“Did you drink a lot of orange juice?”  
“Not particularly.”  
“You should have. What about tea?”  
“I drank a lot of tea,” I interjected.  
“Were you sick too?”  
“No, I just like tea.”  
“I don’t like tea. But if I’m sick I drink it with honey.”  
“Fascinating,” Nathan drawled, but his sarcasm had no bite. He even crouched down to talk to her better, sitting on his heels.  
“Yeah, it is.” She nodded solemnly. “What’s your favorite food?”  
“Remember when you used to be quiet?”  
“That’s because I didn’t know you. What’s your favorite food?”  
“I…” Nathan paused for a little, thinking. “I like croissants.”  
“What’s that?”  
“A little bready sort of thing shaped like a half-moon.”  
“It sounds weird.”  
“It is.”  
“Then why is it your favorite?”  
“Because it reminds me of someone.”  
“Is your favorite person Ellen?”  
“Yeah, but Ellen doesn’t look like Ellen anymore.”  
“What does she look like?”  
He pointed over his shoulder, at me. Rory squinted. “But you’re a boy!”  
“Not always,” I replied.  
“What does that mean?”  
“It means sometimes I look like Ellen, and sometimes I look like this. And sometimes I look like neither.”  
“Show me!”  
Nathan grinned up at me. I raised an eyebrow. “What do you say first?”  
“Please show me!”  
“Alright.” So I did. (For the record, it was Edith Piaf, though the reference was lost on both of them.)  
“WOOOOW!” she yelled. “That was awesome!”  
“I am,” I agreed, shifting back into myself. Nathan laughed.  
“Can you do it again?”  
“I would, but we’re running a bit late.”  
Nathan nodded and turned back to her. “Where’s your aunt?”  
“Just in the other room. Want to play later?”  
“I don’t really play much,” he started, but upon seeing her expression backtracked. “But alright.”  
“Hooray!” She beamed.  
He smiled. “I’ll see you later.”  
“Bye!” she skipped away. We watched her leave.  
Nathan rose back up to his feet, and as we walked he murmured to me, “Did you plan that?”  
I raised a hand to my chest in mock hurt. “I’m offended. I did no such thing.” I grinned. “Though I did hope for it.”  
He shook his head halfheartedly, but he was holding back a small smile. We turned to enter the room, and I paused at the door to peck him on the cheek. “Remember, its ok. You don’t have to speak unless you want to.”  
And before he could reply, I opened the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I did most of the talking. Although I could tell a lot of people were waiting for him to speak, he didn’t say anything until the very end.  
I had just given them basic information about what we did, our history with the Alliance, what our aims were now. How they would be compensated (free room, board, and of course whatever medical assistance they needed). Why they should do this (because if we hadn’t, they would have still been in that hellhole). The like. I wanted them to make sure this was all on their terms. No coercion, no blackmail. We did this right for once.  
Most seemed to agree. Some seemed hesitant. I made a list of those who wanted to see Van to hash out a contract, and that was that. Boring, paperwork sort of stuff.  
Towards the end, Natalie talked to Nathan. Although there’d been rustling and conversation before that as I worked through the group, a watchful silence fell after she asked her question, everyone listening for what the elusive and mysterious half-human half-myth who was this Half-Code with bitten nails and tied eyes had to say.  
She gave him a piercing stare like it was a challenge. He raised an eyebrow back at her.  
“Why are you here?” she demanded.  
He tilted his head a bit. I thought he was going to make a biting remark, maybe swear at her, but he gave the question some thought. Maybe Arran had talked to him. He seemed to have some respect for her.  
I expected him to blank her or point to me. I know he thought well of what we were doing after his sickness, but I never thought he was actually listening when I explained why I wanted to continue after the capture. Obviously, though, he’d been thinking about it.  
“I have spent my life hunted or in cages.” He paused. “I’ve felt the…desperation. And the hatred. That comes living like that. I tried to die, because…at least dead I would be free.” He paused again, swallowing. He never talks about that time in his life much, and I can’t imagine what it must have cost it to speak of in front of twenty-odd strangers.  
He continued. “I want this to stop. I can’t be free until it does. No matter what I do, these problems will always pull me back. So I’m here to fight. Because I need freedom. And with this, here, the way it is, that’s impossible.”  
She scrutinized him. “How very philanthropic.”  
“Not at all.”  
“We all know you, son of Marcus. But you’re not your father. So. Who are you?”  
She was daring him, pushing him more and more. But Nathan is always game for a challenge. And when he is, he’s so much more himself.  
He looked at her for a while and straightened his shoulders. Tilted his head back languidly and bared his teeth in a grin of pointed blades.  
He’s come very far from the fragile boy who was fallout of a war he never wanted.  
I should never have brought him back to Van’s. I should never have fought the war with him. I should never have fallen in love with him. Because this boy, he’s a king, crowned in chaos, draped in red. And he makes it look so good.

“I am trouble.”

And I’m so hopelessly addicted.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Hi Deb.

I haven’t been talking to you lately, and you know why. I won’t talk to you much after this. I love you forever and always, but I need to focus on the living. I am, miraculously, still among their numbers. And they seem to want me.  
I know this isn’t the closure either of us would like—I’d like to not need closure at all. I’d like you to be here with me and never have to leave. But it’s not like that, and I have to accept that.  
So I’ll tell you as much as I can here, and then this will have to end.  
I’ve been having visions again. This time, though, they’re not so bad.

\---------------

The first one I had was this:

We’re in a darkened tunnel, hiding behind a ledge. The air is cold and still, the granite dusted with frost. It’s me and a half-dozen others, crouched and tense. They’re all waiting for a signal. Soon, the silence will become chaos.  
I turn and make eye contact with the person next to me. His unruly dreads and crooked-toothed grin aren’t familiar, but I know its Gabriel anyway.  
He gives the signal, and we sprint, yelling, hurling ourselves at whatever opponent is in our way.

\---------------

The next one:

I see two faces on posters and spray-painted onto buildings. Not wanted posters, as I would have thought.  
Painted in black and white, my eyes search something far away. Chin up, the tattoos on my neck visible.  
Next to me is always someone different, turned away from the viewer, their face hidden.  
There are always words underneath, written in bold.

FREEDOM  
or  
FIGHT  
Or, sometimes, most astonishingly,  
PEACE

\---------------

I had one vision that I watched with the warm feeling of repetition, and knew it would become tradition:

It’s New Years’ Eve and we aren’t in Times Square. Instead, we’re on one of the rooftops near it. It may have been crowded here at a different time, but I knew somehow that we came here earlier in the day and I had grown the plants on the rooftop, heavy and stubborn over the entrance, so thick that even with work nobody could get through.  
We’re alone. One private space surrounded by flowers and leaves in all the light, bustle and noise of the city.  
I hate dancing. I've always hated it and I always will, and he knows this. And I’m awkward and embarrassed and I bitch and grumble, but we dance on the rooftop while the streets teem below us. And I forget about dancing and just think about him and his warmth in the cold of the New York night, how good it is to be in his arms.  
And the countdown starts. And I can hear the people chanting below us. With each number, a little touch. A little peck. And then the countdown gets to zero and I’m racing the clock like always, because I’m trying to make every little bit last, but he’s here and he’ll stay and I know it in the way he kisses me and in the way he looks at me with a light in his eyes brighter than Times Square and I know I love him more than anyone I’ve ever loved before.

 

\--------------------------

 

And:

“Would you ever want to get married?”  
I surprise myself.  
It’s me who will ask this question first.  
He’s surprised but recovers fast. He flashes me a grin—the one that I’ll never quite get used to—and says, “Only if you want to.”  
He’ll act like it’s a joke. But half a year later I’ll give him a ring, and he’ll cry and hug me like he’ll never let me go.

\-------------------

This vision filled me with hope and fear—the fear of not being worthy, of not being ready, of not being good enough.

 

We’re in a hospital, but neither of us are hurt.

Gabriel is holding a little baby.  
“No,” I say. “I’ll hurt him.”  
“You won’t.”  
“He’ll cry. He likes you. He won’t like me.”  
“He won’t do that, Nathan. Not if you calm down a little.”  
“I’m calm.”  
“Alright.”  
“I don’t want to hold him.”  
“You’re going to have to, at some point.”  
I watch myself hesitate and then give in.  
“I’ll sit,” I say. “I’m going to sit first.” I sit cross-legged on the floor.  
“Why?”  
“So I can’t drop him.”  
“You won’t drop him.”  
I don’t answer.  
“Are you ready?”  
I watch myself swallow nervously.  
“He’s a baby, not a bomb.”  
“I’d prefer a bomb.”  
“I know.”  
Gabriel places him in my arms, and I hold him like he’s going to break.  
I smile. “He gets his looks from you.”  
“Yeah?”  
“He’s so ugly.”  
Gabriel almost barks a laugh, but stifles it so he won’t wake the baby. He snorts into his hands. “You can’t blame him, he’s been all scrunched up for nine months. Of course he looks squished. He’ll grow into it later.”  
“Later.”  
“Later. When he lives with us.”  
“God,” I breathe. How terrifying.  
“I don’t know how to do this,” I mumble.  
“You’ll learn.” Gabriel kisses the side of my head and wraps his arm around us. “You’ll be a great dad.”  
I just look at the little bundle in my arms with wonder and awe and more than a little terror.  
“I hope so.”

\-----------------------

Gabriel will read to him at night, but I’m the one he’ll make check the closet for monsters and drags into his tiny bed when he has a bad dream.  
I’ll run with him in the woods, making flowers bloom where he walks and thorn bushes and poison ivy recede so he won’t hurt himself. I’ll call the little creatures of the forest to come over and say hello, and I’ll teach him how to pet them, very gently.  
Gabriel will work again, but it won’t be at a bakery. And I’ll draw some and grow some, but really, this little boy will be my life.  
I’ll devote myself to him. My little sticky-handed, muddy-footed ray of sun.  
I’ll hug him every morning and play with him every day. Gabriel will have to become the strict one, because I won’t be able to see him sad. When he’s getting lectured sometimes I’ll make faces in the background to get him to smile. When Gabriel stays late grading papers I’ll let him stay up late with me in front of the fire, drawing and waiting for him to come home. I’ll hang his drawings all over the house, and tell him he’s the best artist I’ve ever seen.  
I’ll become everything for him that I never had.

 

\-------------------

 

This is the last one.

I’m in a brightly colored classroom, looking at a class of little children all gathered on a little rug at the front. The teacher is standing before them all.  
“Who else would like to present for Father’s Day?” she asks in a soothing voice. “Henri? You haven’t spoken yet. Do you want to come up here and talk about your Dad?”  
The little boy—Henri—nods and stands up on his little legs. He had brown hair the color of the mud on the knees of his jeans, all stuck up in the back. His eyes are like grass stains, and freckles cover his nose. He touches his little hand to his hair to quell his nerves, a gesture that’s strangely familiar—it’s not until a little farther in the vision that I realize it’s because I do it, too.  
“But I have two,” he says to her. “I have a Daddy and I have a Papa.” Papa, I note, he pronounces with the wisp of a French accent.  
“Then you have even more to share with class,” she coaxes. “Why don’t you tell us about them?”  
He licks his lips and looks at the floor, and I think with all his wildness that he’s taken after me in more than just his disheveled appearance. But then he talks, and I know which one of us he’s more like.  
“I have a Daddy and a Papa. Daddy and I play in the woods a lot. We play hide and seek, and I’m really good at it because I find him every time and it takes him forever to find me. Sometimes when he finds me he’ll carry me on his shoulders and we’ll walk around like that. He teaches me the plants sometimes. He doesn’t talk as much as Papa. Papa likes to talk, but he talks to me in French because he wants me to learn it. Daddy knows French because of Papa but he doesn’t like speaking it, so he talks to me in English. And Papa likes to cook. He always cooks dinner. But sometimes, Papa has to work late because Daddy says he’s grading papers because Daddy says he’s a very important university pofessor”—he has trouble pronouncing the r, and I see it’s because he’s lost his front tooth—“so we eat macaroni and cheese and sometimes Daddy and I even eat ice cream for dinner!” He beams. I hear stifled noises behind me, and turn.  
We can’t be much older than young thirties, both of us. My hair is shot through with grey. I’m surprised I even made it long enough for my hair to turn that color, even prematurely. Let alone have a family. Let alone a happy one.  
I’m covering my mouth, trying not to laugh. Gabriel is standing beside me, scowling down at me. His hair is cut short and he’s grown a neat beard, and there are little lines at the corner of his eyes, but he’s still so gorgeous. “You let him eat ice cream for dinner?” he hisses under his breath. “He’s five, Nathan. You’re gonna make all his teeth rot.”  
I just laugh.  
“You’re both going in the time-out corner when we get back home,” he grumbles.  
“So, your Papa is a professor. What does your Dad do for work?” the teacher prompts Henri.  
“Daddy draws things,” he says. “Oh! And my Daddy makes things grow sometimes, too. And sometimes we have Uncle Arran over, and he always brings me gifts. Last time it was a racecar! It was blue! I have it in my backpack!” He grins. “And sometimes Auntie Ellen visits and she brings her dog Blackberry with her and I love when she does that.”  
“Wonderful, Henri!” the teacher beams.  
“She’s still pronouncing it wrong,” older Gabriel mumbles to older me.  
“That’s what you get when you name your kid something French in Wales,” older me responds.  
“It’s really not that hard. Just don’t pronounce the H.”  
“So,” the teacher continues, “there are still a few others who’d like a turn. Would you like to tell the class a few of your favorite things before you let someone else talk, Henri?”  
“Yeah. Um.” He bites his lip and glances towards the people Gabriel and I will become, before looking down. “I really love that my Papa reads to me every night. And they both come in and tuck me in. And if I have nightmares they let me sleep between them, and Daddy gives me big hugs. And I love my Daddy’s hugs because he picks me up and spins me around and it’s really fun. And sometimes when it’s cold outside we have a fire inside and we roast mushmallows”—his pronunciation makes me smile—“and Daddy helps me so they’re perfect and when it’s nice outside we camp out in the woods to sleep and Daddy tells me about all the animals there and Papa tells me what stars are called. And they’re the best ever and I love my Papa and my Daddy.”  
“That was lovely, Henri. Who else would like to go?” The teacher looks around, but Henri is still standing. He’s picking at a loose thread on his shirt.  
“Miss Perry?” he asks. “Can I go see them?”  
She glances to us. “Sure, Henri. Just sit back on the rug when you’re done.”  
I watch as he walk-jogs over to older me and I scoop him up in a hug, kissing the side of his face. Henri starts talking to me, and I can see Gabriel’s beaming at the both of us. All of it took my breath away.  
God, I hope I’ll be worthy of this.

I’ll have a husband and a son.

I’ll have a family.

And we will be happy.

 

 

 

I love you, Deb.

 

 

 

Goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over! I hope you guys liked it. This was really fun to write.


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